# The Crimson Sweater/Chapter 12
### CHAPTER XII A NIGHT IN THE QUARRY

When Roy regained consciousness and opened his eyes he found himself in pitch darkness. His head felt strangely dizzy and for a moment he lay still and strove to recall what had happened to him. Then he remembered and with a sudden fear at his heart moved cautiously. But although every bone in his body felt bruised he was able to climb to his feet. The effort however, left him so weak and dizzy that he reached out for support, found a branch and clung to it while a minute or two passed. And in clinging to it he became aware of the fact that his left hand hurt him a good deal. Presently, when he could stand without holding on, he felt of the aching member and found it swollen and sore to the touch. The trouble seemed to be at the wrist and he wondered whether in falling he had landed on it and broken it. But it didn't feel broken, for he could bend it and even wriggle his fingers, although it pained horribly to do it. Probably it was only a sprain or a dislocation; that could keep. Meanwhile he would like very much to know where he was.
When he had fallen he had caught a glimpse of a dark pit, the sides of which were hidden here and there by bushes. It had been the briefest sort of a glimpse, for he had stepped over the edge and, without a second's warning, had plunged downward into twilight darkness. He remembered clutching at a branch which came away in his hand, and he remembered crashing through a bush which had broken but not stopped his fall. Of what happened after that he could remember nothing.
Now he stepped cautiously forward, feeling in front of him with hands and feet. The ground was loose and uneven. Three short steps brought his hands in contact with a smooth expanse of stone. His fingers could find no place to clutch, even though he managed to fit the toe of one shoe into a niche a foot or so above the ground. He moved to the right through the darkness. But the wall of stone continued. Now and then it became uneven and his hands scraped over rough edges, but it offered no chance of escape. On and on he went. He knew that he must be describing something of a circle, since he was in a pit of some sort, but it seemed that he was edging straight away from where he had fallen. At last he found bushes and for a moment he had hope. But, although he wormed his way upward through them for the space of a few feet, at last he brought up against a perpendicular wall of rock and he was forced to retreat. He became conscious of a dim feeling of fright and strove to fight it down. His hands were moist and the perspiration stood on his forehead in little cold drops. He stopped and leaned against the wall behind him. As he did so he became aware of hundreds of little noises about him and a cold shiver travelled down his back. Then,
"Pshaw!" he muttered. "There's nothing here but birds and such things. Even snakes don't come out after dark. I guess I'm settled for the night and I might as well make the best of it. I dare say I've already been around this old hole half a dozen times. No, I haven't, though, for I've only found those bushes back there once. I'll go on, I guess; maybe there's a regular macadamized road out of here."
He moved on, whistling softly to keep from feeling discouraged. But his left wrist and hand pained frightfully, and presently he stopped and tried to find a position for it that would ease the ache. Finally he found his handkerchief, tied it about his neck and placed the injured arm through the improvised sling. It helped a little. After that he continued his search, but rather half-heartedly. He longed for light and fell to wondering what time it was. Presumably he had fallen in there about half-past four or maybe five. But there was no knowing how long he had lain unconscious. It might be eight o'clock or it might be well toward morning! He wished he knew!
Above his head, how far he could only guess, the night wind was whipping the bare bushes. Now and then a gust came down and made him shiver, but on the whole it was not uncomfortable down there as long as he was moving about. But he couldn't keep that up much longer, for his head was aching, his legs were stiff and lame and every movement sent little thrills of pain down his arm from elbow to fingers. He was glad now of his thick sweater and wished his legs were as warm as the upper part of his body.
For a while he sat on a little rock near the wall along which he had been travelling. Then he began to feel drowsy. That was fine, he thought; if he could only go to sleep he could forget his discomforts, and perhaps when he awoke it would be morning. So he felt about on the broken stone and moist gravel that formed the floor of his prison half fearsomely, afraid of encountering uncanny things in the dark. But his hands found only soil and rock and scant vegetation and he laid himself down gingerly out of respect to his aching body and closed his eyes. But for a while the discomforts of his couch made themselves too apparent to allow of slumber. Queer, stealthy little noises sounded about him and he imagined all sorts of things creeping toward him through the darkness. Once or twice he kicked his feet and cried "Scat!" loudly. Then he laughed at himself for his nervousness and strove not to think of the sounds. He wondered who had won the race and whether they had missed him at school: whether Chub had caught up with Jack and Pryor; what Chub was thinking about his disappearance. Then he started out of his drowsiness. Surely he had heard his name called! He sat up and listened intently. Then he called at the top of his voice half a dozen times. But he heard nothing more, and presently he lay down again with a sigh, eased the position of his throbbing arm and went quietly to sleep.
And the very next moment, as it seemed to Roy, he heard his name called again, quite loudly and distinctly this time, and opened his eyes, blinking, to find his prison filled with the grey, misty light of morning and to hear voices above him. Then came his name again, in the unmistakable tones of Mr. Cobb, and he had time to marvel smilingly that the football coach had really got his name right for once before he sat up and answered loudly. Then came sounds of crashing branches and Roy jumped dizzily to his feet.
"Look out!" he shouted. "There's a hole here. Look where you're going, Mr. Cobb!"
Then Mr. Cobb was kneeling above at the edge of the quarry looking down upon him anxiously and Harry's face appeared behind his shoulder, a rather white, frightened countenance in the pale light.
"Hurt, Porter?" asked Mr. Cobb.
"No, sir, just shaken up a bit."
"Well, thank Heaven! Can you climb out anywhere?" Mr. Cobb's eyes travelled dubiously about the pit.
"I don't believe so," answered Roy. "I tried to find a place last night." He turned and looked about him.
And his face went white at what he saw.
"'Look where you're going, Mr. Cobb!'"
In shape the quarry was a rough oval, its walls so steep that at first glance escape even in daylight seemed impossible. In many places the top of the wall overhung the bottom. Now and then a clump of grass or weeds showed against the dark and discolored face of the rock, and in a few places good-sized bushes had grown out. But all this Roy saw later. At present he was standing with his back to the bank, staring in fascinated dread at the center of the quarry. From the walls, all around, the ground sloped downward toward the center and only a few feet away from him was the margin of a pool some thirty feet in diameter. There was no slime on the top, no weeds about its edge and in the dim light of early morning the water looked black and ugly. Roy stepped nearer and looked down into its depths. Far below him jutting edges of rock loomed up but the bottom was not in sight. Shuddering, he retreated. Had he fallen a little farther away from the bank, or had he rolled over after falling, they would not have found him so easily. He muttered a little prayer of thanks to the Providence which had watched over him during the night and had guided his stumbling footsteps in safety. Then his head felt dizzy and he sat down suddenly on the bank of broken and crumbled slate and went off into a faint.
When he came to, Mr. Cobb was dabbing his face with a wet handkerchief and Jack Rogers and Chub were slapping his hands and arms. Perhaps it was the latter method which brought him around, for a dislocated wrist doesn't take kindly to blows! He yanked his injured hand away with a cry of pain and Mr. Cobb removed the sopping handkerchief.
"All right now, eh?" he asked kindly. "Hello, what's wrong there?" He took the boy's hand and examined it, his fingers probing skilfully. "How'd you do that? Fall on it?"
"I don't know," answered Roy. "It isn't busted, is it?"
"No, dislocated. Feel that bone sticking up there? We'll have to fix that right now, I guess. Hurts, doesn't it? Give me a couple of handkerchiefs, you chaps." Chub and Jack produced theirs and Mr. Cobb took a long leather wallet from his coat pocket and emptied it of its contents. "Just hold your hand out straight," he directed. Then, with one hand above the wrist and the other about the fingers he pulled steadily until the wrist slipped back into place. Roy winced a little, but after the lump had disappeared his whole arm felt easier. Mr. Cobb laid the leather wallet about the wrist and bound it tightly with the handkerchiefs.
"That'll do until we get back," he said. "Put it back in that sling of yours and keep it there, Porter. Now we'll see if we can get you out of here. Do you think you can walk?"
For answer Roy climbed to his feet.
"All right, only remember that you've had a pretty good shaking up and haven't had anything to eat since yesterday noon, and don't try to do too much. We'll see if we can't boost you up over here."
He led the way to the other side of the pool and Roy saw that a rough path zigzagged down the face of the bank there. So steep it was, however, that they had to help each other here and there, and it seemed a long time before Mr. Buckman and the others, awaiting them at the top, were able to reach down and pull them over the edge of the rock. Roy subsided breathless on the grass and looked about him. The sun was just topping the rising hill beyond and the world looked very sweet to him at that moment.
"That's where you went over," said Mr. Buckman, pointing across the pit. "We followed you up to the edge. You must have struck against that bush there and broken your fall; the branches are all broken, I noticed; a good thing you did, too, I guess."
"I remember falling into some branches," said Roy. "That's the last thing I do remember; when I woke up it was pitch dark."
"What's that?" asked Mr. Cobb. "Lose consciousness, did you? Did you hit your head? Here, let's have a good look at you, my boy." And, presently, "I should think you did! Doesn't that hurt when I press it?"
"A little," answered Roy.
"Hum! Guess you've got a pretty tough skull. Look at this place, Eaton. Must have come down on a small stone, I should say. Well, that'll wait until we get home. I wonder if we can carry him between us? Maybe one of you chaps had better run back and tell them to send the phaeton."
But Roy protested that he could walk every inch of the way and finally Mr. Cobb consented to let him try it, and the return journey began. Chub walked beside Roy, anxiously solicitous. Most of the party were frankly sleepy and worn out now that the excitement was over. Harry appeared to have lost interest in the whole affair. Not once, so far as Roy knew, did she even so much as glance in his direction.
"What's Harry doing here?" he whispered to Chub. And Chub recounted the happenings of the night; how Harry had joined the party unknown to them, how they had built a fire and waited for light and finally how Harry had discovered the bit of yarn torn from his sweater.
"It was fairly easy after that," said Chub. "We could see here and there where you had broken through the bushes, and once or twice we found your footprints. We knew they were yours on account of the spikes. If it hadn't been for Harry I guess you'd have been waiting yet. Though maybe you could have got up that bank alone."
Roy trudged on in silence for a while. Then,
"Who won?" he demanded eagerly. Chub grinned.
"I won the individual cup and First Seniors got the class cup," he said. "Jack and I had it nip and tuck all the way to the gate, and if he hadn't stumbled over the track he'd have beat me."
"I'm glad you got it," said Roy. "I was afraid you wouldn't catch up with them, after staying so long with me."
"I was a blamed idiot to leave you," answered Chub savagely. "I didn't deserve to win anything. Why, you came mighty near killing yourself!"
"Yes, I guess I did," said Roy thoughtfully. "But it wasn't your fault, you silly ass. I got all mixed up and couldn't tell where I was. And then, the first thing I knew I—I wasn't anywhere!"
"Tell me about it," said Chub.
But just then Mr. Cobb told Roy he had better not tire himself by talking and so Chub had to wait to hear his chum's adventures. An hour later Roy was fast asleep in his bed. They had served him with some milk-toast, scanty fare for a boy who had missed two meals, and he had promptly turned over and gone to sleep. In the middle of the forenoon the Silver Cove doctor appeared, re-dressed his wrist, put something on his head and left a tumblerful of some sort of nasty-tasting medicine. And the next day Roy was up and about again apparently as good as new save for his injured arm. This was carried in a sling for over a week, but he didn't mind that much.
The second morning after his rescue he went over to the Cottage and asked for Harry. Presently she came down to the parlor where he was awaiting her in front of the soft coal fire and he tried to remember the formal speech of gratitude he had fashioned. But it had gone completely from him. So he just held out his hand and said he was jolly much obliged to her for what she had done.
"Everybody says that if you hadn't seen that bit of red yarn I'd have been there yet," he declared.
Harry shook his hand formally, said she hadn't done anything, that she was very glad he had had such a fortunate escape and asked politely after his injury.
"Oh, the arm's all right now," said Roy.
After that conversation languished until Mrs. Emery came down and made Roy tell her all about it. And during the narrative Harry disappeared. It was quite evident that she hadn't forgiven him, thought Roy, as he took his departure. He didn't look back as he went down the drive and so failed to see somebody with red hair peering down from between the curtains of an upstairs window.