A DISMAL NIGHT.
Before making an attempt to climb out of the flinty “pocket” Harvey
Hamilton studied his situation again, weakly hoping he could discover a
more favorable spot for the essay upon which so much depended.
“This must be more than a hole in the ground,” he decided, “for if it
weren’t, it would be filled with water from the rains and melting snow.”
His supposition was right. It would be more proper to speak of the
trap in which he was caught as an expansion of a gorge. On one side
a fissure reached from the bottom to the top, with a similar opening
opposite. Peeping through these in turn, Harvey noted that the channel
beyond widened to several feet. Thus a torrent of water rushing
through the ravine from the higher level, would find an outlet on the
other side of the expansion and in a miniature way the wonderfully
picturesque “Gorge of the Aare” would be reproduced.
“Ah, if either was a little wider!” mourned Harvey, after vainly trying
to wedge his body through the narrow openings; “it would be fun to
follow the ravine to its outlet or to some spot where I could find a
ladder up the side, but that can’t be.”
Thus far nothing in the nature of fear had disturbed the young aviator.
Several hours of daylight remained and he was confident that by
bestirring himself, or, if necessary, calling for help, he would be
extricated from his vexatious situation. He came back to the place upon
which he had fixed his hopes and girded himself for the effort.
“I could do it if it wasn’t for that bulge,” he said to himself,
glancing aloft, “though the wall happens to be higher there than
anywhere else.”
Grasping a rocky projection with one hand, he found a resting place for
his feet and pulled himself upward for ten or a dozen inches. Looking
over either shoulder he had a partial view of his groping shoes which
after awhile found a resting place, and then he made another hitch.
This was comparatively easy work, and if it would only last he could
climb out as readily as if ascending the stairs at home. But nature
delights in irregularity, and when she built the steps in the side of
the gorge she did not consult the convenience of anyone.
As has been stated the inward thrust of the wall began at about half
the height from the bottom. The slope was so slight that it might have
been overcome, had the projections occurred at the right intervals
and had they been big enough to give a secure foot or handhold. With
the utmost pains Harvey closed his fingers around the support, one in
each hand and began groping with the toes of his shoes. He recalled
the configuration over which he had passed, and succeeded in thrusting
the front of his right shoe into a crevice, but was unable to find a
rest for the other foot. Once the toe caught, but the instant he bore
upon it the shoe slipped free and beat the air. The rattling fragments
showed that he had struck a spot where the shale was too rotten to be
depended upon.
At his waist a horizontal fissure had served for his hands. If he could
lift his feet sufficiently to use it and gain another support above, it
would be of vast help, but he must first secure an upper hold. Looking
aloft he saw a ledge that he thought would answer.
“If it gives way or my hands slip I shall fall,” he concluded, after
studying the task, “but it’s my only hope and here goes.”
He bent his knees slightly and leaped upward. His calculation was made
so nicely that he caught the projecting ledge, and had nearly worked
his shoes into the lower opening, when the shale in his grasp broke as
if it were a decayed limb, and unable to stay his descent, he dropped
to the bottom of the gorge. The distance was not sufficient to harm him
much, though he was considerably jarred.
“Confound it!” he exclaimed, chagrined and angered; “if I could have
passed that spot I should have reached the top.”
He wondered whether it was worth while to try it again, but decided
there was no reason to expect success. Even if he could climb beyond
the place of his mishap, new obstacles would check him.
“As it was, I fell as far as I care to tumble; that is about all I’ve
been doing,” he grimly added, “since that plaguy buck took a shy at me.
If a fellow could only fall upward, there would be a chance for me.”
For the first time since his slip he asked himself how this affair was
to end. He was sure he had nothing to fear as to the final outcome.
“Dick will wait where he is, if he gets on the track of Bunk; he will
signal me to go to him, and when I don’t come, he will head this way.
He knows the spot near enough to come within hail and the rest will be
easy.”
Once more his thoughts reverted to Bunk. While the fellow might keep
out of his reach, so long as he believed Harvey was trying to prevent
his trip with Professor Morgan, and while he undoubtedly would resent
such interference, it would be far different when he learned that
Harvey was in trouble. The dusky youth would abandon everything and
rush to his rescue. None knew this better than Harvey Hamilton himself,
and he wondered whether there was not some way of apprising Bunk of his
dilemma.
“At any rate, it’s worth trying,” was the conclusion which he proceeded
straightway to act upon.
Instead of whistling as he had done before, Harvey shouted the name of
his friend and added in the loudest voice at his command the emphatic
declaration that he was in a hole and wished Bunk to come and help him
out. The appeal, if heard, was certain to bring results, but the truth
forced itself upon the supplicant, that the voice of a person at the
bottom of a well thirty feet or so in depth cannot be made to carry
far. Bunk might be within two or three hundred yards and yet not hear
him.
Harvey kept up his appeals until he grew hoarse, but without bringing
the rescue for which he so ardently hoped. Help was beyond reach and he
must depend upon other means to free himself from prison.
If you can imagine his situation, you will understand how hard it was
for him to stay idle. To fold one’s hands and wait for the assistance
that is likely to be delayed for an indefinite time, is impossible for
a lad in the vigor of health and strength. By this time he had formed
the conviction that Bunk was nowhere near. It was the brother who had
gone to the right spot to find him.
“From the way Bunk has acted all along he will fight shy of Dick; even
if he doesn’t know what his errand is, he will try to avoid meeting
him. Besides, my brother won’t know how to handle him, as I should in
his place.”
Having given up hope of climbing out of the gorge by the means already
tried, Harvey inspected the other portions more minutely. He studied
the path by which he had made his hasty descent when running from the
buck. There was a luxuriant growth of shrubbery on the upper edge,
through which he had fallen, bringing down several handfuls with him.
The roots were so weak that they simply broke his fall without checking
his downward course.
“I wonder whether I can get enough support to allow me to climb out
there. A bush is within reach that looks as if it might hold. I’ll try
it.”
By standing on tiptoe he grasped the top, upon which he began slowly
pulling until he lifted himself clear. Then with the same patience he
drew himself up several feet, when he had to let go and grip the bush
above. This did not look so strong, but it held and he climbed two or
three feet farther.
“I shall make it,” he thought with a thrill of hope; “if the next will
stand it and several after that, I shall get to the top.”
But that was what did not take place. He had caught hold of the third
support when it instantly came out by the roots, and he tumbled again,
landing upon his back, though still without hurt, for the distance was
slight.
The last attempt convinced Harvey that he was so securely trapped that
he was utterly unable to help himself. Irksome as was the task he could
do nothing but await the arrival of his brother.
Before his encounter with the buck, he had had a long tramp through the
wilderness and he had toiled so hard to liberate himself, that he was
tired in body. He sat down at the base of the bushes that had failed
him and thought over the situation.
“If I had come into the mountains alone,” he reflected with a shudder,
“nothing but heaven could save me from starving to death. I can’t get
out and there isn’t a bit of food or a drop of water within reach.
If anything should happen to Dick, it will be the end of me. But what
could happen to him?” he asked in a sharp effort to drive away the
frightful thought. “He is looking for Bunk and will keep it up till
night, when he’ll set out to look for me. He knows where to come and
won’t be long about it.”
Thus Harvey sat in melancholy reflection until the gathering gloom
told him the day was drawing to a close and night was closing in.
Despite his natural hopefulness, he could not fight off a depression of
spirits, which after all was natural in the circumstances. He was alone
in a vast solitude, no one could hear his calls for help, and Dick
might hunt for hours without finding him.
With his nerves strained to the tensest point, Harvey suddenly heard
something move in the bushes at the top of the wall and directly above
his head. The suspicion that it might be a wild animal likely to tumble
down upon him caused him to leave his place and station himself on the
opposite side of the gorge, where he drew his revolver and stood ready
to defend himself if attacked.
Something was certainly stirring above. He caught the rustling at
intervals, with pauses that lasted so long that he believed the
creature, whatever it might be, had left the spot. Suddenly it
occurred to the youth that it might be his brother or some person.
“Hello up there!” he called; “is that you Dick, or Bunk?”
The fact that no reply was returned satisfied Harvey that it was
neither of his friends. Hoping it might be a man, he added in the same
distinct voice:
“I fell down here this afternoon and can’t get out unless somebody
gives me a lift.”
Harvey heard the rustling again, but nothing more. It was some kind of
a wild animal prowling in the vicinity.
“He may be looking for a meal and is trying to decide upon the best
way of attacking me,” added the youth, keeping a sharp watch, with his
weapon tightly grasped.
A chill ran over him at the belief that he caught the glint of a pair
of eyes peering through the dusk, but if so they were withdrawn, and
the fact that he heard nothing more made him suspect he had been
mistaken. His imagination was so wrought up that he saw things which
did not exist.
By and by the all-pervading darkness shut out everything from sight.
He could not discern the rugged margin of the gorge that had become
so familiar to him. There was a growing chilliness in the air which
would have made his extra coat welcome. He thought of gathering enough
sticks to start a fire, but recalled that all the fuel within reach
was green and it would be almost impossible to kindle it. Besides,
though wild animals dread a too close contact with flames, he feared
the light would attract some of them to the spot. Even if he could set
a blaze going, he could not maintain it long, and then the turn of his
enemies would come. Accordingly, he gave over all intention of trying
to brighten up his sombre surroundings.
The bottom of the gorge was free from dampness, for rain had not fallen
for a long time, and had the circumstances been different Harvey might
have passed the night in comparative comfort. He could not bring
himself to lie down, but assumed a sitting position with his back
against the wall. He was opposite the spot down which he had tumbled.
Somehow he felt that if danger came it would be from that point, and he
intended to be prepared for it.
“There’s no possibility of my falling asleep; I am too nervous. I don’t
understand what keeps Dick away,” he added petulantly, for he had
reached anything but a pleasant frame of mind, in which he conjured up
many causes that might explain his brother’s absence. Aside from the
difficulty he was likely to find in bringing Bunk to terms, he himself
might have met with accident. The fact that he carried a rifle was no
guarantee against the very mishap that had befallen Harvey himself.
It would be hours before the moon rose and though the sky was clear and
the orb was near the full, the foliage was too abundant to permit its
light to reach him. In the hope that Dick might be moving about not far
off, the imprisoned young aviator shouted his name at intervals. He
ceased to call for Bunk, for he no longer felt any hope that he was in
the neighborhood.
When a young man sits on the ground with his back against a support
and in an easy posture, and is absolutely certain that he will stay
wide awake until morning, such a belief is generally soon followed by
profound slumber. Such was the case with Harvey Hamilton, who would
have remained unconscious throughout the darkness had he not been
roused in the most startling manner conceivable.