“’Twan’t the Grant boy I see,” declared Haskell. “I knowed the young rascal, fur off as he was, and he’s been up to his shindigs ’round here before. ’Twas old Lem Davis’ sneakin’ cub, as I’ll swear to; and you can bate your last dollar he shot that dorg.”
CHAPTER XXXI.
SOMETHING WORTH DOING.
It was during the first week in January that the great sensation of the winter took place in Oakdale. The January thaw came on early, and several days of warm rain, swelling the streams and overflowing the ponds, was followed by a freezing night or two, which left Lake Woodrim a glare of white ice and brought out every boy and girl who owned a pair of skates. The rising water had forced the opening of the big gates in both the upper and lower dams, and a flood from Lake Woodrim poured down through the channel into the small pond at the south of the village. Above the dam for some distance the sweep of the current toward the open gate had carried away many huge cakes of ice, and all along the shores the rise made it necessary for the skaters to take precautions about getting out onto the lake.
Rod Grant, having found that he could skate fairly well, was there, but he still persisted in keeping much by himself, avoiding as far as possible the advances of the boys, many of whom were now more than willing to be friendly with him. Barker also was there, but he took particular care to keep away from Rod, whom, in spite of Joshua Haskell’s story, he yet persisted in pretending to believe guilty of the dog shooting.
The skaters had been warned to keep away from the ice in the vicinity of the dam, especially that portion of it directly above the open gate, where the current was strong. Nevertheless, with her usual reckless daring, Lelia Barker skated out toward that dangerous spot, unmindful of the pleading of Sadie Springer and the shouted words of several boys who came hurrying toward her. At the very edge the ice was thick and apparently strong, but suddenly a cry of horror went up as the skaters saw a huge cake slowly cleave off and detach itself from the general mass. Another followed almost immediately, and the foolhardy girl was borne away on that second cake.
A boy, skating with all his might, dashed past several terrified fellows who had stopped to stare helplessly at the trapped girl. Reaching the edge of the ice from which the second cake was swiftly receding, the skater made an amazing and desperate leap across the open water. His momentum carried him to the floating icecake, upon which he struck sprawlingly as his skate irons shot out from beneath him. Across the cake almost to the far edge he slid, nearly sweeping the girl from her feet. The heel of one skate rasped into the ice and checked him, but only the size of the cake prevented it from tipping sufficiently to let him slide into the water. Swiftly he scrambled back to the center of the cake and stood up.
It was Rodney Grant, and his face was quite as pale as that of the girl, although his voice was calm and steady as he spoke.
“We’ve got to get off this thing right lively, or it will beat the stuffing out of us when it goes tumbling and smashing down through the gate. There’s only one chance. You’ve got to get wet, and you sure must trust me. Don’t grab me round the neck.”