"Where's the Senor, Jim?" cried Jo. This question served to bring Jim completely to himself. He got up, looking pale, with one side of his face bruised to a real blackness, and the flesh of his left hand badly torn, where it had struck the cliff, but he was not thinking of these matters.
"Why, Jo, the Senor came after me. Where is he?" Then it came over him all at once, that his companion was even now caught between the jaws of the black cliff.
"We must get to him, Jo," he cried.
"But how did you ever get around that cliff?" asked Jo.
Already it was an awesome sight as the waves crashed in foam against its front and rushed shoreward along its black sides. It seemed impossible that only fifteen minutes before Jim had actually come around that foaming headland.
In reply to Jo's question, Jim threw his arms around Caliente's neck with warm affection.
"This is the old fellow that pulled me through," he cried. "But we must go to the help of our Spanish friend."
"How can we?" inquired Jo. "We can't get around the headland unless we become fishes."
Jim considered the problem carefully. One thing he was determined on and that was not to leave the Spaniard who had been so hospitable and helpful to them.
"No, we can't go around by the headland," he determined, "but we might be able to find a way over the rocks and down on the other side."