Simultaneously both boys were jerked off their feet by a sharp tug on the rope. They felt themselves being rushed forward over the rough ground and yanked through a clump of scratching “scotch-cap” bushes.
A moment later they both gave a shout of terror as they felt themselves falling into a dark hole. Then came a plunge and a sudden bump as they fetched up their career through space by abruptly alighting on something soft and warm.
For a time, so badly shaken were they by their fall and by terror, that neither spoke. Then Persimmons’ voice came through the darkness.
“Rocketing radishes! are you dead, Hardware?”
“No, are you?” came the answer in a quavering voice.
“Not even scratched. But where under the sun are we?”
“At present we are lying on White-eye’s body. Poor brute, I guess he’s dead.”
“But he saved our lives. If he hadn’t fallen first to the bottom of this hole, or whatever it is, we’d have been killed or had our bones broken, sure.”
“Not much doubt of that. But what are we going to do now?”
“Get out of this place.”