if she did not come to him, it was because she herself was hurt deeply
and couldn't.

A more coldly logical portion of his mind was urging him to get up and
_do_ something about it. They had passed a telephone booth on the
highway; lying there whimpering wasn't doing anybody any good. This
logical part of his confused mind did not supply the dime for the
telephone slot nor the means of scaling the heights needed to insert
the dime in the adult-altitude machine.

Whether the dazzle of mental activity was serial or simultaneous isn't
important. The fact is that it was completely disorganized as to plan
or program, it leaped from one subject to another until he heard the
scrabble and scratch of someone climbing down the side of the ravine.

Any noise meant help. With relief, Jimmy tried to call out.

But with this arrival of help, afterfright claimed him. His mouth
worked silently before a dead-dry throat and his muscles twitched in
uncontrolled nervousness; he made neither sound nor motion. Again he
watched with the unreal feeling of being a remote spectator. A cone of
light from a flashlight darted about and it gradually seeped into Jimmy's
shocked senses that this was a new arrival, picking his way through the
tangle of brush, following the trail of ruin from the broken guard rail
to the smashed car below.

The newcomer paused. The light darted forward to fall upon a crumpled
mass of cloth.

With a toe, the stranger probed at crushed ribs. A pitifully feeble