"I can't swim back," he thought, as he remembered how that mad current had hurled him onward.
Ten minutes passed. He felt around for his torch, but it was nowhere within reach.
Then he got a firmer hold on the rock with one hand, while with the other he pulled a matchsafe from his pocket.
Luckily the safe was a water-proof one, and the contents were, therefore, dry. Soon he had a lucifer lit, and by its tiny light he sprang to the shore of the stream.
There were some odds and ends of driftwood there—grass and bits of tree twigs—and of these he made a little fire. Then he bethought himself and set up a yell.
But as we know, his cries were not heard, and no answering call came back. The only sound that broke the stillness was that of the water as it took a plunge downward at one end of the opening he had entered.
"I guess I'm in a trap," he muttered. "But I must get out somehow. Oh, God, help me to get out!"
The prayer was repeated over and over again, and at last the boy grew calmer. Then he took the flaring driftwood in his hands and set out on a tour of inspection.
The chamber he had entered was not over
