“I must hurry,” reasoned the boy. “I hope I find the doctor at home.”
In a few minutes Jerry had come to the top of the hill. At the foot of the slope, which was about half a mile in extent, the boy saw a white bridge, that spanned a narrow but swift running stream.
“Here goes!” cried Jerry. He was about to coast at half speed down the hill when a voice suddenly called:
“Stop!”
“I can’t!” shouted back Jerry. “I’m hurrying for the doctor!”
The boy turned to see who had warned him, and saw a farmer hurrying across the field toward him. Something in his manner caused Jerry to dismount.
“You can’t get across the bridge!” cried the man. “It’s broken. If you ride down that hill you’ll be killed! I stopped you just in time!”
Jerry felt his heart sink.
“The rains made the creek rise,” explained the man. “The farther span of the bridge was carried away last night. There’s a sign just this side of it warning people, but if you rode down on that lickity-split thing I knew you’d never see the sign until it was too late.”