It was late that afternoon that they came to the falls that thundered down into the Pool of Death.
Awe–struck by the wild and gloomy majesty of the scene, not one of the party spoke for a time. It was Walt who broke the silence, shouting above the mighty roaring of the falls.
“Can Jack have gone over this cataract and lived?” he said.
Captain Atkinson shook his head gloomily.
“It looks bad,” he said. “If the boy was plunged over such a place only one of those miracles of which we spoke awhile back can have saved his life.”
“How can we reach the foot of the falls?” asked Ralph in a quavery tone.
The sublimity of the scene and its suggestion of ruthless power and pitiless force had overawed him.
“We must look about for a way,” declared Captain Atkinson, “at any rate we won’t turn back till we know, or at least are reasonably certain, of Jack’s fate.”
For some time they searched about the summit of the steep cliffs surrounding the Pool of Death without coming on any path or series of ledges by which they could hope to gain the foot of the falls. But at last Captain Atkinson halted by a rock that towered up like a pinnacle or obelisk. It stood at the edge of the cliffs, at a spot where they did not appear more than a hundred feet or so high.
“We might be able to get down from here,” he decided.