"Don't—jump—stay—"
I waited a few seconds and then called, "If you're hurt, I'm coming anyway."
"Don't—jump," he kind of groaned; "I'm all right. Just a strain. Don't jump."
I sat on the edge waiting. I was just counting the seconds. I was afraid he'd never speak again.
Then he said, "All right, kiddo—just strained my wrist."
"Are you sure?" I called down; "dip it in the water; slap some mud on it. Is he dead?"
I knew now that he must be all right, because I heard him move. For about half a minute he didn't answer. Then he called up:
"He's alive, but he isn't conscious."
"How about you?" I said.
"Alive and conscious," he said; "don't worry."