“By the time he overtakes them I’ll be done for,” thought the unfortunate lad; and even as this passed through his mind the ice broke again, compelling him to make another struggle to fling his arms out upon it. In that terrible moment it seemed that Rollins had deliberately deserted him—had even been willing to leave him there to perish.
“I must get out alone. I must get out somehow,” he mumbled huskily. “If it wasn’t for the current I might——”
Again the ringing sound of skates reached his ears, and hope flared up strong as that sound became more and more distinct. It came from the direction of Bass Cove, and, approaching across the ice, he discovered two figures, one in advance of the other.
“Hi, there! Hi, Grant! Is that you? Where are you? What’s the matter?”
It was the voice of Lander.
“Here! here!” answered Rod, as loudly as he could. “I’ve broken in. Can’t you help me?”
“Look out, Bunk,” warned Spotty, who was behind. “It’s dangerous there.”
One of Lander’s skates raked along the ice as he set it sidewise to check his speed.
“I see him!” he cried. “There he is, Spot! Hang on, Grant, old feller; we’ll get you out somehow. Hang on a little longer.”
Away he went toward the nearby island, while Davis, getting down on all fours, crawled cautiously toward Rodney. From the shore of the island came a cracking sound, like some one thrashing amid the underbrush and saplings which grew upon it.