“Look out!” he gasped. “Look out!”
The warning cry came just in time. Stretching straight across their path was a gaping, V-shaped cleft almost hidden from view by vegetation.
With faces drawn and pale, they gathered at the edge and looked below. Bob Somers, scarcely realizing how he had managed to save himself, was still the foremost.
A thrill of horror shot through them. There, caught on a projecting ledge about fifteen feet below, lay the motionless form of Joe Preston, and still below him was a terrifying, almost vertical drop to the deepest portion of the ravine.
“Great Scott!” gasped Bob. Then: “Joe, Joe!” he called. “Joe! Speak—are you badly hurt?”
A moment of dreadful suspense followed.
Joe slowly stirred and passed his hand across his forehead.
“Joe, look out—don’t move an inch!”
Bob spoke with thrilling intensity, and Joe Preston’s awakening faculties began to grasp the peril of his situation. He huddled close to the smooth, rocky wall and shut his eyes to hide the depths below.
“Are you hurt, Joe?” inquired Norman Redfern, breathlessly.