He stopped now and then to listen.
Yes, it was a human voice that cried for help. It was not the gulls.
"Adonde?" (Where?) "Adonde?" shouted Timoteo, forgetting his English
in his excitement.
The answering shouts grew more distinct. Timoteo climbed over the
wet rocks till he found himself near a place where the sounds seemed
to come from between two rocks. Timoteo saw a boy reach up part way
between the two rocks. The boy could not crawl out. The hole between
the rocks was not big enough.
"Timoteo!" screamed a voice, and Timoteo recognized Herbert.
"Say!" Herbert called, "run for help, won't you? I was out here
abalone-hunting, and I guess one of these big rocks must have been
poised just right to topple over. Anyhow, in climbing down here I
managed to topple it. It didn't fall on me, but it fell against the
other rocks so that there isn't room for me to crawl out of here! I
can't make the rock budge, now. And the tide's coming! I thought I'd
drown, away out here, alone. You can't do anything with that spike.
It needs three or four men with levers. Run! The tide's up to my
waist, now! There isn't room between these rocks to crawl out."
For one moment Timoteo stood still and looked at Herbert. Then the
Spanish boy turned and flew over the rocks. Leaping from one
slippery foothold to another, he rushed toward the cliffs, up the
cliff road, on to the clusters of Chinese huts that made a little
fishing-village by itself on the edge of the bay.
Pages:
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162