“Grab him, somebody!”
“Wow! what is this anyway—a bombardment?”
Such were the cries coming from the three Rovers when they saw the luckless Andy lose his balance and go over into the lake with a splash.
“It’s fire coming down! We’ve got to get out of this!” cried Fred, a few seconds later.
The youngest of the Rovers was right. It was indeed a rain of fire that had suddenly descended upon them through the pall of yellowish-black smoke. It was falling into the boat and on their persons. Where it struck the lake it sent out a curious hissing sound.
“Come—let us get Andy aboard again and row out of this as quickly as possible!” gasped Jack.
Andy had disappeared from view, but only for a few seconds. He came up, thrashing around wildly, for he had been almost stunned by the thing which had struck him, a block of wood carried up from the ammunition plant by one of the explosions.
“Steady, Andy, steady! We’ll save you!” called out his twin, and as Fred and Jack sent the rowboat in the luckless one’s direction, Randy bent over and grabbed his brother by the hand. Then, taking care that the craft should not tip over, Fred and Randy pulled Andy aboard.
“Are you much hurt?” questioned Randy anxiously.
“I—I don’t know,” was the gasped-out reply. “I—I don’t think so, though. What did you slam me in the back for?” Andy demanded of Jack, who had been behind him.