The young ruffian who was so notorious about the Four Corners was really in a serious predicament. In making a long cast the boulder had rolled under him and, being precipitated into the pond, he was pinned to the bottom by his legs. The two boys with him had sprung into the pond, and were now wet to their necks; but they could not roll back the heavy boulder.
Just as Laura and Chet, with their school mates, arrived Hebe sank back with a gurgle, and the water went over his head. He had been barely able to keep his mouth and nostrils out of water until that moment.
“Hebe’s gettin’ drowned! Hebe’s gettin’ drowned!” yelled Mike, the victim’s young brother, dancing up and down on the shore.
“Get in there at once and hold his head up!” commanded Laura Belding. “Then we’ll roll away the stone. But he will drown if you don’t hold him up.”
Mike did as he was bid. When Hebe got his breath again he began to use language that was unfit for the girls to hear, at least.
“Say!” exclaimed Chet, his eyes blazing, “you stop that or I’ll hold your head under the water myself. What kind of a fellow are you, anyway?”
Hebe gasped and kept still. Perhaps he had scarcely realized who the people were about him. Laura said:
“Can’t you boys, all together, roll away that stone?”
“We’ll try,” said Lance, already beginning to strip off his shoes and stockings. “Come ahead, Chet.”
They made even Purt Sweet join them, bare-footed and with their trousers rolled up as far as they would go. They waded in and got around the rock. Hebe was in a sitting posture, and the weight of the stone bore both his legs down into the muddy bottom. But there was hard-pan under the mud, and it was impossible to drag the victim from beneath the huge rock.