The sound he heard was a footstep, and the watcher knew in an instant that it was not Gil’s, both by its peculiarity and by its coming in a fresh direction from that in which he had heard the answer to his last signal.
“It’s Cobbe come back to slew round the bridge,” he muttered to himself, as he crouched down; and hardly had he uttered the remark than there was a slip, a loud ejaculation, and then a sharp cry and a splash.
“Then it wasn’t Cobbe,” exclaimed the watcher, as he sprang up, and, repeating his signal, he soon heard his leader’s footsteps hastily approaching. “Don’t try to cross,” he said; “the bridge has gone and some one has fallen in. Run to the wheel, or whoever it is will be there first, and take a dowser into the lower bole.”
Gil ran along the side of the swift channel, and, directly after encountering the dimly-seen form of the founder, he exclaimed, “Has he passed you?”
“Yes; quick,” cried the old man, as he tried hard to recover from the shock he had received; “we may stop him by the wheel here. Who was it?”
“Heaven knows,” cried Gil; “don’t stop to talk.”
As he spoke he was already down on his knees beside the wheel, and made a snatch at something which was hitched on to one of the broad slimy paddles; but even as he stretched out his hand the shape glided away, and went over the fall with a shoot into the black water down below.
“For God’s sake, be quick,” cried the founder, “or he’ll be drowned, whoever he is. Drop on to the stones below; the water is only a few inches deep at the side, and you may reach him as he comes up with the eddy.”
Without a moment’s hesitation Gil lowered himself over the wood-piles, and dropped with a splash on to the water-worn pebbles below, where there was a broad shelf before the water went sheer down ten or a dozen feet into a hole caused by the washing of the heavy stream that fell from above.
Overhung as it was by willows, and enclosed by slimy piles and masses of fern-hung rock, it was a gruesome place, at mid-day, with the sun shining. By night its very aspect would have been enough to deter most men from venturing to plunge in. It, however, had no deterrent effect upon Gil, who leaned forward, peering into the darkness, to see if he could reach the drowning man; but finding that he was swept away by the stream, and being drawn round by the eddy towards the falling torrent which came over in a sheet, he plunged boldly in, caught the first part of the drowning man’s garments he could seize, and swam strongly towards the lower part of the waste water, where Wat Kilby was ready to give him a helping hand, half dragging him out, and at the same time whispering a few words in his ear.