"Val!"
"Here, Ricky!" But that thin thread of a whisper surely didn't belong to
him. He tried again and achieved a sort of croak. Something moved behind
him and there was an answering rattle of falling clods.
"Val, I'm afraid to move," her voice wavered unsteadily. "It seems to be
falling yet. Where are you?"
The boy tried to investigate, only to find himself more securely
fastened than if he had been scientifically bound. And now that the
mists had cleared from him, his spine and back felt a sharp pain to
which he was no stranger. From his breast-bone down he was held as if in
a vise.
"Are you hurt, Ricky?" He formed the words slowly. Every breath he drew
thrust a red-hot knife between his ribs. He turned his head toward her,
pillowing his cheek on the gritty clay.
"No. But where are you, Val? Can't you come to me?"
"Sorry. Un--unavoidably detained," he gasped. "Don't try any crawling or
the rest may come down on us."
"Val! What's the matter? Are you hurt?" Her questions cut sharply
through the darkness.
"Banged up a little. No"--he heard the rustle which betrayed her
movements--"don't try to come to me--Please, Ricky!"
But with infinite caution she came, until her brother felt the edge of
her cape against his face. Then her questing hand touched his throat and
slid downward to his shoulders.
"Val!" He knew what horror colored that cry as she came upon what
imprisoned him.
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