He felt of his arms and his legs, with an awful fear that one or more of them might have been broken. But they were whole, as far as he could tell, and when he tried to move them they responded.
But he was torn and scratched in innumerable places and blood was trickling from his wounds.
He dragged himself up to a standing position and propped himself against an earth wall that he could feel but not see. But his head swam so that he had to sit down again, for fear he should fall.
It was strange, he thought, that there was no light in the place. If there had been a hole for him to fall through, there should be a hole for light to come through. But absolute blackness met him as he turned his eyes upward.
He steadied himself and tried to think. What should he do? How could his uncles find him? What would Brick—
Brick! He had been right beside him. Had he also—Could he—
“Brick!” he called.
There was no answer.
“Brick!” he repeated.
There was a faint rustling, and a weak voice answered: