CHAPTER II

BOB AT THE CLIFF

Toward the middle of the afternoon, Bob and Frank Landes came to a picturesque mountain stream, flanked on one side by sloping hills and on the other by a jagged cliff fifty or sixty feet in height.

“I want to get one or two views here,” said Frank Landes. “Let us get over the stream and under the cliff.”

They crossed the bridge and walked along the base of the cliff for a distance of several hundred feet.

“Now straighten out that tripod and I’ll put some plates in the camera,” went on the young man.

He had explained the workings of the different parts of his instrument to Bob, and the youth lost no time in complying with his request.

The tripod was set up, and the young man was just about to place the camera upon it, when there came a terrible scream from overhead.

“What’s up?” queried Frank Landes.

“My gracious!” burst out Bob. “Look there!”

The young man looked to the spot indicated.

The sight presented was enough to chill the blood of both. A young girl had fallen over the edge of the cliff, and now hung suspended in mid-air, her dress caught in some scraggy rocks and bushes.

“She’ll be killed!” ejaculated Frank Landes.

“We must save her!” returned Bob. “I wonder if I can’t climb up to her and keep her from falling.”

“Help! help!” cried the girl, in tones of deepest agony, as she caught hold of one of the bushes with her right hand.

“Hold fast till I climb up to you!” shouted Bob.

He caught up the tripod and began to ascend the face of the cliff as best he could.

“What are you going to do?” asked Frank Landes.

“Save the girl,” returned Bob, resolutely.

In a few minutes the fearless youth had reached a ledge some ten feet below the spot where the girl hung. He tried to go up higher, but found it was impossible to do so.

“Oh, help me! Help me, please!” cried the girl, as soon as she caught sight of Bob.

“I will,” he said.

Taking the tripod he braced it as firmly as he could on the ledge upon which he was standing. Then, by the aid of some bushes he managed to balance himself upon the top.

By reaching out he could now grasp the girl’s arm.

“Let go and I will land you safely on the ledge,” said Bob.

“I am afraid. The fall has made me dizzy,” cried the girl. “Besides, my dress is caught.”

“Then wait till I crawl up a little higher.”

Bob had hardly spoken when there was a sudden crack. One of the legs of the tripod had broken, and with a wild cry, the boy lost his balance and went over the ledge!

Frank Landes gave a cry of horror, and the girl above a shrill shriek of added fear.

As Bob plunged over the ledge, he threw out both of his hands, and one of them caught in some of the bushes growing below.

The bushes were torn from their roots, but Bob’s progress downward was somewhat stayed, and, when his other hand caught a bit of projecting rock, he held fast.

“Hold hard!” shouted Landes. “I forgot, I’ve got a bit of rope with me.”

He clambered up the cliff until he reached the ledge. Then he lowered one end of the rope and Bob grasped it.

“Can you pull me up?” asked the youth.

“I can, if you will help by holding on to the bushes,” returned Landes.

He began to pull up slowly and with great care, and soon Bob’s hands grasped the edge of the ledge, and he drew himself up to a place of safety.

In the mean time the girl above was growing weaker, and she gave a low moan.

“I can’t hold on any longer,” she gasped. “My head is awfully dizzy.”

“Hold for just a minute longer,” shouted Bob. “Frank, let me climb up on your shoulders.”

Landes agreed. In an instant Bob was up on the young man’s shoulders. By this time the bushes to which the girl clung had partly loosened themselves, and the girl now hung within reach of Bob’s sturdy arms.

“Steady below!” he shouted to Landes. “Now, hold out your hand and jump. You will come down all right,” he added to the fair one.

The girl hesitated, but after one look into Bob’s truthful eyes, she grew confident, and, letting go her hold, allowed herself to drop into his outstretched arms.

Landes collapsed under the combined weight. But Bob expected this, and, as he and the girl came down, he took good care that neither should go over the edge of the ledge.

“Oh, thank you for that!” cried the girl, and with these words she fainted in Bob’s arms.

“Why it’s Grace Maverick,” cried Frank Landes, in intense surprise.

“And who is she?” queried Bob, gazing at the beautiful form in rather a helpless way.

“She is the daughter of Gregory Maverick, the president of the T. W. & L. Railroad which runs through Stampton.”

“Well, what shall I do now?” queried Bob, more awed than ever, now he knew who his fair burden was.

“Let me help you down to the brook with her,” replied Landes. “Come this way, there is quite a good path.”

Between them they carried the girl from the narrow ledge to a grassy slope at the base of the cliff. Then Bob took off his cap, filled it with water, and dashed some of it into Grace Maverick’s face.

With something like a gasp the girl came to her senses. She gazed around for a moment, and then sat up.

“Where--where am I?” she stammered, in bewilderment.

“You are safe, Miss Maverick,” returned Frank Landes, politely.

“Oh, Mr. Landes, is it you? I remember it all! And where is the boy who saved me?”

“Here he is. His name is Bob Alden.”

Landes turned to the youth, and Bob shuffled forward, blushing furiously. Grace Maverick grasped his hands within her own.

“Oh, how can I thank you!” she cried, impulsively. “If it hadn’t been for you, I would have been killed.”

“Mr. Landes did his share,” said Bob, generously.

“Nonsense,” put in Frank. “Bob is the hero.”

“I am thankful to both,” said the girl. “Where are the others?”

“What others?”

“My friends. There were four of us on the cliff, and a savage dog scared us. I ran near the edge, and stumbled.”

“I’ll go up and look for your friends,” said Landes, and, without waiting, he made off.

“And your name is Bob Alden?” questioned Grace Maverick.

Bob nodded.

“Mine is Grace Maverick. I am awfully glad to know you. Do you belong around here?”

“I don’t belong anywhere just now.”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“I worked for a farmer over in Shellville, but he treated me so meanly I left. I am bound for Stampton.”

“To get work?”

“If I can.”

“Well, when you get there you must call on me. Mr. Landes will tell you where I live.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t forget. I want my papa to see you. He says he likes to see heroes, and you are one.”

“No, I’m not! I’m only a plain country boy,” said Bob. “Anybody could do what I did.”

“Perhaps they could, but they wouldn’t all have the nerve to try. Oh, here comes Mr. Landes now, and he has found my teacher!”

Frank now returned with an elderly lady, who at once proceeded to take Grace in charge, scolding her for going so close to the edge of the cliff.

“Here is the young man who saved me,” said Grace, pointing to Bob.

The elderly teacher gave the youth one stare, and then shrugged her shoulders.

“You must have nothing to do with such common people, Grace,” she said, lowly, but still loud enough for Bob to hear. “Come with me at once.”

“He is a noble boy,” protested the girl. “Good-bye, Bob Alden, I shall expect to see you in Stampton. Good-bye, Mr. Landes.”

The teacher hurried Grace away. Bob and Frank both tipped their caps, and then the youth turned to the young man.

“Christopher! Isn’t the old lady a sour one?”

“Rather,” returned Frank. “But, Bob, you’re in luck.”

“How so?”

“It’s a good stroke for you,” went on Frank. “It ought to be worth a good deal to you.”

“What ought?”

“Saving Grace’s life. Such a thing isn’t done every day.”

“Pooh! You’re as bad as she was.”

“Why, what did she say?”

Bob told him. Frank caught his hand. “Let me congratulate you. You’re all right.”

“Give it to me plainer, please.”

“Can’t you see? You call on Grace. See old Maverick. He takes an interest in you and rewards you handsomely.”

“But he won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t call.”

Frank stared at Bob in amazement.

“Won’t call?” he gasped.

“That’s it. I’d feel worse than a cat in a strange garret. I’m not used to high-toned society.”

“But look what it might be worth to you.”

“I don’t want anything for doing a nice girl like her a little service.”

“Well you’re the queerest!”

“Maybe I am. But, say, I’m downright sorry I broke the three-legged thing.”

“Don’t bother your head about that. It’s worth a dozen tripods to be a hero.”

“If you don’t shut down on that talk, I’ll leave you at once,” burst out Bob. “I’m not a hero, never was, and am not likely to be. Here’s a bit of strong string. Let me see if I can’t splice the broken leg of your machine.”

Frank said no more, and, sitting down, Bob took the tripod and speedily mended the split leg.

This done, the two proceeded to take several pictures of the spot, including one of the place where the thrilling scene recorded had occurred.

“I’ll give you a copy of it,” said Frank. “And perhaps I’ll send one to Miss Maverick.”

Bob was very much interested in the taking of the pictures, and asked innumerable questions.

“We’ll stop at Fitt’s Half-way House to-night,” said Frank. “And then I’ll show you how to develop the plates. You have to do it in a dark room.”

“How can you see to show me, then?” asked Bob, and Frank laughed.

“We use a red light,” said the young man. “It is the only light that doesn’t affect the plates.”

“Do you know, I would like to become a photographer,” burst out Bob. “It must be an interesting business.”

“It is, especially outdoor work. Gallery work, though, is rather confining.”

“I would like to become a travelling photographer, taking houses and so, for people. Couldn’t a fellow make money that way?”

“I should think so, if he went at it the right way.”

After this, Bob was silent for a long while. He was revolving a great number of things in his mind. He loved to travel about, and the idea of combining business with pleasure just suited him. Besides, he was of an artistic turn, and pictures pleased him.

“Yes, I’ll become a photographer,” he said to himself. “And I’ll travel around, and not only try to make money, but also see if I can’t find out who I am, and where I came from. I won’t be Bob Alden, the nobody, any longer.”

At about sunset the two came to Fitt’s half-way road-house, an old-fashioned hotel. Half a dozen wagons were tied up beneath the shed, and the dining-room and parlor were both comfortably filled.

They met the proprietor of the place in the hall, and Frank at once made arrangements for a room for both with supper and breakfast. Their traps were taken up, and both took a wash and a brushing up previous to entering the dining-room.

“Did you see that dark-looking fellow standing by the door of the office?” questioned Frank, as they were arranging their toilet.

“The chap with the cut on his left cheek?”

“Yes. He is an enemy of mine, and I’m sorry he is here.”

“How is he your enemy?” asked Bob, with interest, for he could not understand how so good-hearted a person as Frank Landes could have an enemy.

“He used to work for our firm, and I once detected him in wrong-doing. I exposed him, and he was discharged. He promised to get square, and I know he will try to keep his word.”

“What is his name?”

“James Casco. He has Spanish blood in him, and is a bad man when in a temper.”

“We’ll both keep our eyes open for him,” returned Bob. “If he tries any underhand work, and I catch him at it, I’ll--I’ll pulverize him.”

“Really!” laughed Frank.

“I will. I always stick up for my friends, and you’re the first friend I’ve struck in a long time. So let Casco keep his distance.”