They had nearly reached the middle of the span when an ominous cracking was heard.
“Quick, fellows, quick!” shouted Bob. “The bridge is breaking. Run for your lives!”
He sprang forward like a deer and the others followed him pell-mell. They could feel the bridge giving way beneath them, and the hiss of the water was drowned by the horrid roar of crashing timbers. One last frantic rush and they cleared the bridge and felt the solid ground beneath their feet.
They were not an instant too soon. Even as their feet left the planking there was a splintering crash and the bridge parted in the middle. The ends still clung to the abutments on either side, but the central portions fell into the stream, where they were swung to and fro by the force of the current so violently that it seemed that but a short time would elapse before the ends also would be torn loose from the banks and the whole structure swept down toward the sea.
Cold chills chased each other up and down the boys’ spines as they realized what a narrow escape they had had from being engulfed in those raging waters.
“That was a close call,” panted Bob, as he took out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his face.
“I’ll tell the world it was,” agreed Joe.
“Another five minutes, yes, another five seconds, and we’d have gone down with it,” said Herb. “And I hate to think what it would mean to be fighting for life in that whirlpool.”
“Well, we didn’t go down, thank Heaven,” rejoined Bob. “And a miss is as good as a mile. But where’s Jimmy?” he asked suddenly, as he saw that only two were standing beside him.
“Why, he must be right around here,” replied Joe, peering into the darkness on either side. “I suppose he’s sitting down for a minute to get his breath. Jimmy,” he called.