He bared his chum's face to the pelting rain—the best thing he could have done, for it brought Joe back to consciousness—slowly at first, but with the returning tide of blood the fainting spell passed.
"We must get him to the boat," said Mr. Alcando, coming up now.
"Are you hurt? Can you walk?" asked Blake.
Joe found his voice—though a faint voice it was.
"Yes—yes," he said, slowly. "I—I guess I'm all right."
There seemed to be no broken bones. Mr. Alcando took charge of the camera. It was not damaged except as to the tripod.
"What happened?" asked Joe, his voice stronger now.
"You were caught in the slide," Blake informed him. "Don't think about it now. We'll have you taken care of."
"I—I guess I'm all right," Joe said, standing upright. "That coat got wound around my face, and kept the dirt away. I got a bad whack on the head, though, and then I seemed to go to sleep. Did I get any pictures?"
"I don't know. Don't worry about them now."