A gust of fresh air struck their faces.
“We’re almost there,” Nash shouted. “Don’t stop! Keep up your nerve! You’re doing splendidly, Miss Breen! We’ll have to make a run for it after we get out!”
Miss Breen, who was well ahead, at last uttered a little cry. She was scrambling out into the soft moonlit world.
“There!” Nash drank deep of the air. “It’s all over but the shouting now. One more pull and——”
Miss Breen was standing free now, amid the scrub oak and aspens that grew thickly about the mouth of the hole. Nash himself, his head and shoulders well out of the crevice, and ready to give the final effort that would serve to lift him beside the girl, suddenly felt a weight crush against his legs. For the moment he struggled desperately; then stopped.
“What’s the matter?” Miss Breen asked, frowning. “Why don’t you hurry?” She steadied herself, and stretched out a hand. “Here, take hold. Maybe I can help some.”
Nash took in a deep breath, and put forth a determined effort, but it was a useless exertion. His legs were wedged firmly.
“I—I’m stuck, somehow,” he said. “Some loose rock is pressing against my legs.”
“Stuck?” Miss Breen cried aloud. “Oh, not now! Not when we’re all but free. Try hard.”
Nash did not need the girl’s encouragement to urge him to a greater endeavor. Savagely he jerked, but the sharp edges of the rock were cutting into his flesh, and the pain caused by this effort brought a smothered groan to his lips.