a still narrower ledge, his left hand flung outward, its palm pressed against the smooth surface. His head leaned against the raised shoulder, his forehead close to the rock. Viewed from below the quarry face looked perpendicular, as, indeed, it was farther around where the height was less, but here there was a perceptible slope, slight but sufficient to have saved Laurie from a headlong plunge to the strewn fragments at the base. His cap was gone and the miniature landslide had powdered his head and shoulders with red dust.
"Laurie!" called Ned tremulously.
For a space there was no answer. Then Laurie's voice reached them, weak and muffled. "Yeah?"
He didn't raise his face.
"Are you hurt?" asked Bob anxiously.
"No, not—yet." He stopped and then added, "Scraped a bit."
"Can you hold on until we—we—" Ned stopped because he couldn't think just then what it was they could do.
"I reckon so," answered Laurie. "Is there . . . anything near my left hand . . . I can reach, Ned?"
