Meanwhile Thad was busy. Fortunately Bumpus always kept a nice noose at the end of the rope, with a running knot. Thad knew this, for he had many a time thrown the lariat with considerable skill, when showing the owner just how it should be done.
Hastily he gathered the coils of rope in his hand, and rushed again to the edge of the little bluff looking out on the rapids.
He drew a breath of relief when he saw that the unfortunate gymnast was still there, clinging desperately to that slippery rock, and yet apparently well-nigh exhausted.
“[Look out for it, Davy, and grab the noose when it comes near! Here goes!]”
With that the scoutmaster gave the rope several whirls about his head, and then launched it forward. The others watched the result, with hearts that seemed to actually stand still with suspense.
“Missed him!” cried Giraffe, in despair, as the rope struck the surface of the swift water about five feet or more above the imperiled scout.
“Thad wanted to send it there; see!” exclaimed Allan.
Just as the one who had thrown the rope expected, the noose was instantly seized by the foaming waters, and swept downward, straight at the clinging boy. Although Davy may have been partly dazed, he had known enough to hang on with might and main. And right then and there he seemed to understand what Thad meant to do; for as the rope was borne up against the partly submerged rock to which he clung, the boy made a quick snatch at it.
“He lost it!” shrieked Bumpus, who had recovered enough now to crawl near the edge in order to see what was going on; though not daring to trust his weight too near the brink, lest the earth crumble under him, and let him drop into the rapids where Davy was already fighting for his life.
“Not much he did!” echoed Giraffe; “he’s got it all right! Good boy, Davy! Slip it under your arms, and we’ll yank you out in a jiffy! That’s the ticket! Hurrah!”