chum lay buried, but, at least so it seemed, there had been such a mass
of earth precipitated over him that it would mean hours before he could
be gotten out.
However, fate, luck, Providence, or whatever you choose to call it, had
not altogether deserted the moving picture boys. The very nature of the
slide, and the hill on which it had occurred, was in Joe’s favor. For
as Blake, after a despairing glance at the approaching column of men,
bent again to his hopeless task, there was a movement of the earth.
“Look out!” cried Mr. Alcando.
He would have spoken too late had what happened been of greater
magnitude. As it was Blake felt the earth slipping from beneath his
feet, and jumped back instinctively. But there was no need.
Beyond him another big slide had occurred, and between him and Mr.
Alcando, and this last shift of the soil, was a ridge of rocks that
held them to their places.
Down in a mass of mud went another portion of the hill, and when it had
ceased moving Blake gave a cry of joy. For there, lying in a mass of
red sand, was Joe himself, and beside him was the camera, the tripod
legs sticking out at grotesque angles.
“Joe! Joe!” yelled Blake, preparing to leap toward his chum.