There was no reply. “Quick!” exclaimed Deering, “get those planks there—we’ll run ‘em along the ice, and have something to hold to if we go in. We’ve got to follow. Quick, Jim!”
They dashed to a point a few yards up the shore where some heavy planks had been placed by the skaters early in the season to serve as seats in putting on and taking off their skates. It was the work of a second to rip up two of them, and slide them out on the ice in the direction Finch had gone.
By this time the runaway boy was about twenty yards from shore, he had stopped for the moment and was watching them curiously. When he saw them slide the planks out, he started again, heading for the opposite bank from which the dark woods loomed up. They could see him distinctly, trying to slide, his foot catching every second in the soft ice.
Suddenly there was a cry. “There he goes!” cried Jimmie, as Finch disappeared beneath the ice.
They pushed breathlessly, incautiously forward, sending the planks on ahead of them. Finch rose in the middle of the great hole that his plunge had made. They could hear him sputter and see him splash helpless in the pool of dark water and broken bits of rotten ice. He could swim, and had got to the edge of the circle of water, and was clutching desperately at the firmer ice. But each time it gave way, enlarging the hole, but bringing the boy very little nearer his would-be rescuers.
“Stick to it, Jake!” Tony called. “We’ll get you out, if you can hold out. Quick, Jim. Slide the plank out.”
On they went, fearful every instant that they would be in like predicament. “There’s no use,” said Jimmie. “If we only had a rope!”
“Well, we haven’t, and he can’t hold out till we get one.”