"Yes! yes!" Henry tried to catch his breath. "Oh, Sam, what shall we do?"
He tried to look down into the water, but the falling of the rock had dislodged a quantity of dirt also, and what had before been so clear was now muddy, so that little or nothing could be seen excepting the top of the stone, which now lay about six inches below the surface.
"Can't you see him at all?" queried Barringford, after a painful pause.
"I can't see anything. Oh, this is awful!"
"Dive an' take a look!" ordered the old frontiersman, and taking as good a breath as his condition would allow, Henry went down, to catch hold of the sprawling roots with his hands and try his best to locate the body of his cousin. But the muddy water made his eyes smart, and seeing was practically out of the question. More than this, the great rock was slowly sliding outward, to the deeper part of the stream, so he had to watch out for fear of being caught once more.
"Didn't see him?" asked Barringford, as he came closer.
"No, it's too rily."
"I'll go down myself."
Barringford was as good as his word, and went down without an effort, his water-soaked clothing aiding him to sink. He caught hold of the rock and the roots and strained his eyes in all directions. Then the rock began to move once more, and he had to get out of the way just as Henry had done.
"I'm afraid it's all up with the poor lad," he said, when he could speak.
"If he's down there, he's drowned by this time."