There was reason for Digby Fordham’s cry. With a smash and a rumble, the rocking stone pitched over the brink of the hill. Whatever had held it in its bed had broken away without warning and the huge rock commenced to descend the slope at a speed that momentarily increased.
It was headed directly for the gully in which the lame Indian youth was walking. So steep were the sides of the gully, and so swiftly was the rock descending the hill, that it seemed impossible for the endangered Indian to escape.
On the heels of Dig’s cry, however, Chet Havens spurred his horse out into the open ground. He unslung the lariat from his saddle-bow as Hero galloped to the edge of the gully.
Chet arrived there just as John Peep looked up and saw the thundering slab plunging down upon him. He might possibly escape it; then again he might be caught by it. The avalanche descending with the huge rock was of considerable compass, and even should the Indian youth try to scale the side of the gully, he might be swept away by some broken tree or the like.
Dig spurred his horse over to the place and leaped down to give his chum a helping hand
For the boulder was sweeping all before it. Dust rose in a cloud, and through that cloud, limbs of trees, brush, smaller stones, and other debris could be seen whirling.
Chet paid little attention to it, however, as he was above the gully and was out of the course of the slide. But he doubted if the Indian lad could easily escape, and he sent the coils of his lariat whirling down into the hollow.
“Catch hold and I’ll haul you up!” yelled the white boy.
The Indian could not possibly have heard him. By this time the roar of the landslide drowned all other sounds. The red youth, however, understood.