"There he is!" he shouted. "Phil! Phil! Are you hurt?" he called.
Only a faint moan came back, and scrambling up the rocks beside Dave, Roger saw the trouble. Phil had slipped from the rocks into the mountain torrent. In going down his legs had caught in an opening below, and there he was held, in water up to his knees, while the water from some rocks above was pouring in a steady stream over his left shoulder.
"Can't you get up, Phil?" asked Dave.
"Hel—help!" was the only answer, delivered in such a low tone that the boys on the rocks could scarcely hear it.
"He can't aid himself, that is sure," murmured Dave. "Roger, we have got to get him out of that—before that water pouring over his shoulder carries him down!"
Both boys looked around anxiously. Phil was all of fifteen feet below them and there seemed to be no way of reaching the locality short of jumping, and neither wanted to risk doing that.
"If we only had a rope," said Roger.
"We might double up a fishing line," mused Dave. Then his face brighteened. "I have it—the pole!"
He ran back and speedily brought up Phil's pole, and around it he wound the line, to strengthen
