“Harry has passed them all!” yelled Boxy, in wild delight. “Didn’t I tell you he would do it?”
“They’ve got half a mile to go yet!”
“Never mind, he’s getting farther ahead each minute!”
Boxy was right. Harry was now putting forth every effort. He had just forged ahead of Jack, and it certainly looked as if he would come in a winner.
But Jack was picking up. He was determined to beat Sully, even if he could not gain on his friend.
A couple of rods were passed, and Harry was almost sure of winning, when suddenly a wild, girlish cry rang out across the river.
Harry looked to his left and saw a sight that thrilled him with horror.
Half-way between himself and the shore was a long, narrow spot where the ice was very thin. A girl, scarcely ten years of age, had ventured on this ice, and broken through, and was now struggling madly to save herself from drowning.
Evidently all the other people on the river were so interested in the race that they had not seen the accident nor heard her cries for aid.
“My gracious!” burst from Harry’s lips, and then, forgetting all about the race, and the prize he wished so much to win, he swept from the straight course in a semi-circle toward the hapless victim.