“It looks like a bad one,” said Biff. “We’d better hurry.”
Without further ado, the boys hastened off along the faint trail that led among the rocks. They could see no sign of the ravine, but judged that it would be almost invisible until they came almost on it. Their progress was slow, as it was difficult to make haste over the rocks and boulders.
The storm came up swiftly. Within ten minutes the clouds were banked blackly in the sky above. A streak of livid lightning rent the gloom and there was a peal of thunder.
“We’re out of luck if we can’t find shelter before this storm breaks,” panted Chet. The air was insufferably close. A few scattered raindrops warned the lads that they had no time to lose.
They plodded on, mentally wishing that they had remained at the fisherman’s cottage but realizing that it was too late to turn back now.
Another flash of lightning, a terrific thunderclap, and the storm broke.
Rain began falling heavily. It streamed down from the black skies as though the clouds had opened. The wind rose. Far below them the surf boomed and the waves crashed against the base of the cliff. Rain poured in a veritable deluge. The lads had neglected to provide themselves with slickers, as they were already burdened by the weight of their supplies, and they were soon drenched to the skin.
They stumbled on, scarcely able to follow the faint path in the gloom. Lightning flickered, thunder crashed constantly, the wind rose to a howl. There was not the slightest vestige of shelter, not even a tree, out on this rocky waste. Frank looked in vain for a boulder large enough to offer some protection.
They plunged forward into a streaming wall of rain.
Frank was in the lead. Chet and Biff were next, and Joe brought up the rear. They could scarcely see one another in the gathering gloom. On and on they went, heads bent to the storm, and, to Chet especially, time seemed to stand still in a gray world.
Suddenly Frank looked behind, then came to a stop.
“Where is Joe?” he shouted, above the clamor of the gale.
The others looked back.
Joe had vanished.
X
The Cave
The boys gazed at one another in surprise.
“Where on earth did Joe disappear to?” exclaimed Biff Hooper.
They peered into the gray oblivion of the storm, but the rain was teeming down in such heavy torrents and the gloom was so intense that it was impossible to see more than twenty yards away.
“We’ll have to go back,” decided Frank quickly. “He probably sat down to rest and got lost when he tried to catch up with us again.”
They retraced their steps over the rocks, keeping close together. They shouted again and again, but in the roar of wind, rain, and thunder they knew there was little chance that Joe would hear them.
“I never thought to look back,” said Chet. “I thought he was right behind us.”
“Same here,” declared Biff. “He might have dropped back five or ten minutes ago and we didn’t know it.”
The search seemed hopeless. It was late in the afternoon and already getting dark. Once in a while they stopped and listened, hoping to hear some faint cry from Joe, but there was nothing.
“Perhaps he fell down and hurt himself,” suggested Frank. “He may be lying behind some of these big rocks and we can’t see him.”
The boys searched patiently.
Joe Hardy was nowhere to be found.
They did not dare scatter, for fear of losing one another, but they hunted among the rocks, realizing the hopeless nature of their quest. At last they halted, standing in a little group, with rain pouring down on them.
Frank expressed the fear they had all held for the past few minutes.
“I wonder if he could have fallen over the cliff!”
They had been going along within a few yards of the uneven edge of the cliff and they realized that, in the rain and the dim light, it would have been easy for Joe to have stumbled into the abyss. They turned sick at the thought of the frightful plunge, ending in certain death, had he tumbled over the verge.
Suddenly, above the roar of the storm, they heard a faint cry.
“Listen!” cried Frank.
Breathlessly, they waited.
Again came the cry.
“Help! Help!”
It was from almost at their feet.
Frank ran quickly forward. At the very edge of the cliff, he stopped and peered down.
Over to one side, a few feet below the top of the sheer wall of rock, he spied a dark figure.
It was Joe!
He seemed to be clinging directly to the side of the cliff.
Hastily shouting to the others, Frank ran across the rocks until he came to a place immediately above where he had seen his brother. He flung himself flat and peered over into the dizzy depths.
Just beneath, he could see Joe’s white face. His brother was clinging to a small bush growing out of the side of the cliff. Had the bush been his only support, he would not have been able to maintain his hold, but fortunately there was a ledge of rock, a few inches wide, in which he had managed to implant his feet. Thus he had clung to the face of the cliff.
“Quick!” shouted Frank, to the others. He realized the need for haste. “He’s here!”
“I can’t hold on much longer!” called Joe, in a strained voice.
“We’ll get you out of this,” Frank assured him. But his heart sank when he saw that Joe was beyond his reach.
Biff and Chet came running up, and Frank tersely explained the situation to them.
“There’s only one thing to do,” he said. “Both of you hang on to me while I lower myself over.”
Biff peeped over the edge of the cliff.
“You’ll never make it,” he said. “You’ll
