"It's from the hollow trunk! I tell you, some body's in there!" declared Tom.
But the uprooted stump had fallen into the water with the opening down. If there really was anybody in it, the way in which the stump had fallen served to hold such person prisoner.
Ruth Fielding was as quick as Tom to turn back to the spot where the old stump had been submerged; but Helen had fallen in her tracks, and sat there, hugging her knees and rocking her body to and fro, as she cried:
"He'll be drowned! Don't you see, he is drowned? And suppose that bull comes back?"
"That bull won't get us down here, Nell," returned her brother, laying hold of the roots of the hollow tree and trying to turn it over.
But although he and Ruth both exerted themselves to the utmost, they could barely stir the stump. Suddenly they heard a struggle going on inside the hollow shell; as well, a thumping on the thin partition of wood and a muffled sound of shouting.
"He's alive—the water hasn't filled the hollow," cried Ruth. "Oh,
Tom! we must do something."
"And I'd like to know what?" demanded that youth, in great perturbation.
The stump rested on the shore, but was half submerged in the water for most of its length. The unfortunate person imprisoned in the hollow part of the tree-trunk must be partly submerged in the water, too. Had the farther end of the stump not rested on a rock, it would have plunged to the bottom of the creek and the victim of the accident must certainly have been drowned.
"Why don't he crawl out? Why don't he crawl out?" cried Ruth, anxiously.