The noise of the splitting wood that followed warned Clay of his danger. He stood stock still, trembling in every limb.
The dog did not appear to be coming any nearer, and his shrill barking was now mingled with the clank of chains. All at once Clay comprehended the situation. The brute was fastened to his kennel somewhere near the gate, and was therefore powerless to do harm.
Clay's presence of mind quickly returned. He drew a match from his pocket and struck it on his shoe just as a feeble cry for help came apparently from the bowels of the earth.
As the blaze flared up Clay saw the partially covered mouth of a well just in front of him. The gap between the planking showed where Ned had fallen through.
Clay was terribly alarmed, but he had sufficient presence of mind to kneel beside the orifice and hold the match down.
"Are you hurt, Ned?" he cried huskily. "Can you hold out for a moment or two?"
"I'm all right so far," came the reply in a feeble, chattering voice. "I can't stand it long, though. The water is over my head, and I'm holding on to the cracks in the wall. Waken the family, quick!"