A moment later he had turned around the intervening rock, and saw,
stretched out on the ground, hanging half way over a deep and rock-filled
gully, a man about twenty-seven years of age. Dave guessed this much
though he could see only a part of the man's body, for his head and
shoulders were hanging down over the ledge,

"What are you doing there?" was Dave's first question. "Why don't you get
up?"

For it was exactly as if the man were lying face downward on top of a
cliff, looking down.

"I can't get up," the man answered, his voice being a bit muffled because
his head was hanging over the cliff. "My foot is caught in a cleft in the
rocks, and I'm afraid to move for fear it will pull loose. If it does I'll
lose my balance and topple, for I'm hanging more than half-way over this
cliff now. And it doesn't look like a good place into which to fall."

This was true enough, as Dave knew, for the bottom of the gully was
covered with jagged rocks. More than one straying steer had fallen over
there and had been dashed to pieces.

"Steady!" called Dave. "I see how it is. I'll soon have you out of that.
I'm going back for my rope."

"Are you a puncher?" asked the man.

"Yes," answered Dave, briefly. "But don't talk. Save your strength. I'll
have you out in a jiffy."