I managed to get my toes into a cleft, and my arms felt better. My head was beginning to think and come to the relief of instinct. I saw that I was about ten feet from the crest of the cliff; which was not far, but too far. I tried to draw myself up by the bushes, but I was no sailor, and I failed. Then I shouted with all my might. I had seen the smoke of the camp just before my fall, and I hoped my voice would reach the men there. I never knew before that I had such a good voice.
"Hello-o-o-o!" I shouted.
The mountains took up the cry and sent it back to me.
"What's the matter down there?" called out some one.
"The matter?" I said, angrily. "There's no matter at all; I came down here merely for amusement. I do this sort of thing often."
I looked up and saw the red face of Colonel Hetherill peeping over the brink at me.
"Ah, it's young West, the Yankee spy," he said.
"I'm young West, I'll admit, but I'm no Yankee spy," I replied.
"I insist that you are a Yankee spy," he said, in an infernally calm and convincing manner. "What proof can you give that you are not?"