"It's pretty bad," he shouted to the watching girl. "You had better wait until I find a way down."
He began to crawl gingerly along the monarch tree at the crown of the pile. Its branches were twisted in all directions and dangerous snags were frequent. Suddenly his foot slipped. He made a wild attempt to regain his balance but the heavy pack prevented him, and a second later with a shout he plunged into the tangled pile below, vanishing from the girl's sight on the further side. With a swift cry of alarm, Helen, who had been seated on a fallen trunk, leaped to her feet. She called out to him, her voice shaking with fear:
"Mr. Stane! Mr. Stane!"
There came no answering hail from the other side of the deadfall, and with dismay manifesting itself in her beautiful face, the girl faced the barrier and began to climb with reckless, desperate haste.
CHAPTER VIII
A MEETING IN THE FOREST
Gerald Ainley's canoe had almost reached the junction of the rivers, on the return journey, and he and his companion were battling hard against the acceleration of the current, when the Indian gave a grunt and looked round.
"What is it, Joe?" asked Ainley quickly.