There was no answer.
An awful fear clutched at the boys’ hearts.
“He’s trying to scare us,” ventured Herb, but without much conviction in his tones.
“Jimmy! Jimmy!” called Bob. “Don’t frighten us, old scout. Where are you?”
Again that dead, terrible silence.
Then, so thin and weak that it sounded as though from a great way off, they heard Jimmy’s voice.
“Help! Help!”
“He’s down in the water,” cried Joe.
“He didn’t get off the bridge in time,” Herb shrieked, in an agony of apprehension.
The three boys rushed to the bank and peered down into the dense darkness where the only light they could discern came from the white spray that crested the waves of the raging torrent.