“We’re not going to stand idle until he gets exhausted and lets go his hold,” declared Frank. “It’s the only chance, and I’m going to take it.”
He flung himself down and began to edge forward until he was leaning far over the verge. Biff and Chet seized his ankles and set themselves by digging their heels against the rocks. Bit by bit, Frank lowered himself, headfirst, over the side. His outstretched hands were but a few inches away from Joe’s wrists. Joe still clung to the bush that had saved his life.
Frank dared not look down, for he was hanging at a dizzy height. He closed his eyes.
“A little more,” he called out.
He swung lower and gripped Joe’s wrists. He secured a tight hold. There was no time to lose, as he knew it would take every ounce of strength he possessed to drag his brother back to safety, and he was growing weaker all the time.
“Ready, Joe?”
“All right,” gasped Joe.
“Haul away!”
Chet and Biff began dragging Frank back. There was a double weight now, for Joe relaxed his grip on the root to which he had been clinging and was now dangling in space, supported only by Frank’s firm grip on his wrists. Frank had no idea that his brother weighed so much; the strain was terrific.
Gradually, however, he was drawn back to safety. For one horrible moment he thought he was losing his hold on Joe’s wrists, as their locked hands reached the edge of the precipice. But Chet, leaning forward, seized the back of Joe’s shirt, clung to him while Biff scrambled over, and together they hauled him up onto the rocks.
For a moment, neither of the Hardy boys could say a word, they were so exhausted by the ordeal. Above them the storm still raged, the rain still poured from the black skies, the lightning still flickered, and the thunder still boomed and rumbled.
“Boy, that was a narrow squeak!” said Chet solemnly, at last.
“Don’t talk about it,” said Joe, closing his eyes, as though to shut out the memory of the sight. “I can still see the waves away down beneath me. I was never so near death in my life.”
“We’ll stick closer together after this. How did it happen?” Frank asked.
“I stopped to tie my shoelace. When I looked up again I couldn’t see you chaps at all, so I began to run to catch up. I didn’t realize I was so near the edge of the cliff. Then some of the rock must have broken off under my feet, because everything gave way and I felt myself falling.”
“You’re mighty lucky you’re here to tell us about it,” said Biff.
“I’ll say I am! I just managed to grab that root growing out of the side of the cliff and I hung there until I thought my arms would be pulled out of their sockets. I thought I’d never be able to hold on until you found me.”
“It was quite a while before we missed you.”
“At any rate, I couldn’t have held on, but I managed to find that ledge and got my feet on it. That rested me. I was certainly glad when I heard you fellows shouting for me.”
Recovering somewhat from their grueling experience, Frank and Joe Hardy got to their feet.
“Let’s run for it,” suggested Chet. “We’re drenched to the skin, as it is, but I don’t want to stay out in this storm any longer than I have to.”
With one accord, the boys resumed their journey over the rocks. This time no one lagged behind. For safety’s sake they stayed close together and well away from the verge of the cliff.
In a short time Frank gave a cry of delight.
“The ravine!” he yelled.
Through the pouring rain, just a few yards ahead, they discerned a deep cut in the rocks.
They scrambled toward it. The ravine was deep and the slope was steep, but they had been fortunate in reaching it just at a point where a path led down among the rocks.
Far below, they could see the beach and the breaking rollers.
Slipping and stumbling, the boys made their way down the steep, winding path in the downpour. The storm was unabated. Its violence, on the contrary, seemed to have increased. The rain came down in sheets.
Halfway down the path, Joe gave a cry of excitement.
“A cave!”
He pointed down toward the base of the cliff, just visible from the path.
There, but a short distance from the breaking waves, was a dark hole in the steep wall of rock.
XI
Footsteps in the Night
With the goal in sight, the Hardy boys and their chums hastened down the treacherous path, along the steep side of the ravine. The path was slippery and little rivulets of water ran at their feet. Chet Morton slipped and went sprawling in the mud, getting to his feet with exclamations of disgust.
“Oh, well,” he said philosophically, “I can’t be any wetter than I am already.”
Frank consoled him.
“When we get to that cave we’ll light a fire and dry ourselves out a bit.”
They at length reached the floor of the ravine where little streams of water were coursing from the upper levels to the sea and splashing across to the beach. It was only a few yards from there to the black entrance of the cave, which was well above the reach of high tide.
Frank led the way.
He took a flashlight from his pack as the boys hastened into the dark mouth of the cavern. They were in shelter, at any rate, and they could look out at the streaming rain and feel thankful that they had a roof over their heads, although that roof was a rocky one.
Frank directed the beam of the flashlight into the gloomy interior and in its gleam he saw that their shelter was no mere niche in the face of the cliff, but a cave that led to dark and unknown depths.
“Looks as if we can start our exploring right
