“Jimmy!” Bob shouted at the top of his voice. “Where are you?”
“I’m down here in the water,” came Jimmy’s voice. “I’m holding on to the broken end of the bridge. But I can’t hold on much longer. Hurry up, fellows, or I’m a goner.”
The boys were frantic with excitement.
“Hold on, Jimmy!” yelled Bob. “Hold on, for the love of Pete! We’ll get you!”
But how?
The broken part of the bridge hung almost perpendicularly for a distance of nearly twenty feet before it reached the water. The rain had made it as slippery as glass. The end on the bank was grinding at its supports and threatened every moment to tear loose and fall into the stream.
All these things Bob took in, in a flash.
“There’s only one way,” he said grimly. “And I’m going to take it. I’m going to work my way down and try to get him.”
“Let me go,” put in Joe, but Bob was off before any one could stop him.
He threw himself down flat on the bridge and began to work his way down backward on his hands and knees. The slope was so steep that it was like going down a ladder, with the difference that with a ladder he would have had rungs on which he could have planted his feet solidly, while here he had to dig his fingers and toes into every crevice he could find to keep himself from sliding down into the abyss of waters. Foot by foot, with infinite care and caution, he let himself down, keeping his eyes shut so that the sight of the madly racing waters beneath him should not make him dizzy and force him to let go his hold.