A low sigh of horror welled to her lips as her investigating fingers clutched a fold of wiry cloth. An instant and they had traveled upward to an arm and on up to a face. She had found Blanche. With a little sob, Ruth drew herself close to the motionless form and laid an ear against Blanche’s heart. It was still beating. Groping for one of her companion’s limp hands, she chafed it gently, calling out over and over again, “Blanche! Blanche! It’s Ruth! Oh, you must come to yourself soon!”
Hampered by her injured left hand, Ruth worked desperately over the unconscious girl with her right, now rubbing first one wrist then the other, now shaking her by the shoulders. A dash of cold water in her face, or a whiff of pungent smelling salts would have easily restored Blanche to consciousness. Ruth, however, had no remedy save that one willing hand, coupled with desperate determination.
After what seemed hours, in reality minutes, a long, shuddering sigh issued from Blanche’s lips. Ruth’s own heart almost skipped a beat when a faint voice mumbled, “Wh-at—oh-h—” and trailed off into silence. Creeping to Blanche’s head, Ruth raised it with difficulty, bracing it against her right shoulder. “It’s Ruth, Blanche. Don’t you know me?” she entreated.
“Y-es, Ruth.” Blanche’s voice was somewhat thick. Consciousness now rapidly returning, she asked faintly: “What’s the matter? I can’t see. It’s—so—dark. It’s night, isn’t it?”
“It’s night in here,” was the grim response. “It must be night outside, too. You—I—well, we are in the cave that we found. Do you remember about it?”
“What cave? No; I don’t remember it. There was something else; something terrible. I can’t think. The back of my head hurts.” Unsteadily, Blanche’s arm went up in a vain effort to locate her head.
“Lie still,” came the gentle command. “Don’t try to move or talk until you feel a little better.” Ruth had decided that, for the present, she would not try to inform Blanche of what had occurred. Time enough for that later on.
Crouching there in the darkness, the full gravity of their situation was borne upon her. Her brain now perfectly clear, she was of the conviction that some natural disturbance of the rocky ledge above was responsible for their imprisonment. For they were prisoners beyond a doubt. For how long? Ruth shuddered. Only too plainly one woeful fact confronted her. Both she and Blanche had slipped away from their friends without a word. In all probability, no one had seen them go. They alone had discovered the cave, and to their sorrow. She knew that long since, Miss Drexal must have started a hunt for them. Undoubtedly, the terrific rumble of falling rocks must have reached their ears. Yet how could they possibly guess that the two missing girls were prisoned behind them?
Ruth’s confidence in the Guardian was such that she knew Miss Drexal would insist on having every foot of the island explored in an effort to find them. And there was Blue Wolf, too. Recollection of the intrepid old Indian roused her to new hope. Had not the guide said that he knew the island. “You get lost, me find,” rang like a clarion in her ears. Perhaps he knew of the existence of the cave. Surely he must know.
Mere meditating on that one possible source of rescue consoled her not a little. It went far to alleviate the physical misery she was patiently enduring. Her head still ached dully, and the throbbing pain in her sprained wrist never stopped for an instant. Her whole body ached, too, from sitting so still, while Blanche’s head was a heavy weight against her shoulder. The latter had taken her advice, in that she had neither moved nor spoken since Ruth had last addressed her.