o 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.

[Illustration: "'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 a