The voice continued to call, sometimes sounding loud and clear, and then almost falling, or seeming to fall, to shrill whispers.
He fancied these changes were due to the wind that roared through the top of the tree, carrying the sound first one way and then another.
In a very short time he was in the matted top of the oak, hanging over the cañon. Then, to his amazement, he saw before him a large hole, such as a bear might have used. The calls were coming from this hole.
He looked into it, but the hole was black as pitch, and he could see nothing. However, the words of the person down in it seemed now to be shot at him as if from the muzzle of a gun.
“Help! H-e-l-p! H-e-l-p! I’m in the tree; and I——”
“Yes—yes! I’m here to help you. How far down are you? I can’t see you.”
“Something’s stoppin’ up the hole now; it’s a bear mebbe! Help! H-e-l-p!”
“I am shutting the light out, I suppose. I want to help you. If I lower my lariat can you get hold of it? Then perhaps I can pull you out, or assist you to get out.”
The calls changed in their character; the person in the tree had become aware that some one was at the opening, and that this some one was proffering assistance.
“Drap yer rope, then!” the voice shrieked. “I kin climb it, mebbe.”