"It's the end of him!" exclaimed Roy, in a whisper.
Down shot the broken aëroplane with the velocity of lightning. It just dodged the trees on the little island and then it plunged into the lake, first spilling Speedwell out. Then down on top of him came the smother of canvas, wood and wires.
"He'll be suffocated if I don't go to his rescue," murmured Roy; "it will put me out of the race, but I must save him."
There was a clear spot on the island, and toward this the boy dived. In the meantime men were putting out from shore in a small boat. But the boy knew that they could not reach the unfortunate Speedwell in time to save his life.
Roy made a clever landing on the island and then lost no time in wading out to the half floating, half submerged wreckage. In the midst of it lay Speedwell. Roy dragged him ashore. The man's face was purple, his limbs limp and lifeless and he choked gaspingly. Another minute in the water would have been his last, as Roy realized.
He did what he could for the man, rolling him on his face to get out the water he had swallowed. By this time the boat from the shore landed on the island. The two men got out.
"Is he alive?" they asked of Roy.
"Yes, and he'll get better, too, I guess. Lucky he fell in the water. No limbs are broken."
"Well, you're a pretty decent sort of fellow to get out of the race to help an injured man," said one of the men.
"Well, I'll leave him to you now," rejoined Roy; "is there a hospital near here?"