"I don't care!" vowed one. "I'm sorry we've got him fired."
"Do you mean," demanded Bull, in amazement, "that you're not going to keep the promise you made a while ago?"
"That's what I do!" declared the other, sturdily. "I think he deserves to stay!"
And Bull turned away in alarm and disgust.
"Fools!" he muttered to himself. "Fools!" and gritted his teeth in rage. "I hope he's never seen again."
It seemed as if that might happen; the cadets during all this time had been standing out in the driving rain, striving to pierce the darkness of the storm. From the river came an occasional shout from some one of the rescue party; but no word from the plebe or the girl.
Once the watchers caught sight of a figure swimming in; it proved to be Fischer once more. The cadets had rushed toward him with sudden hope, but he shook his head, sadly.
"Couldn't—couldn't find him," he panted, shaking the water from his hair and shielding his face from the driving rain. "I was too tired to stay long."
The storm swept by in a very short while. Violence such as that cannot last long in anything. While the anxious cadets raced up and down the shore, each striving to catch a glimpse of Mallory, the dark clouds sailed past and the rain settled into an ordinary drizzle. The surface of the white-capped river became visible then, and gradually the heads of the swimmers came into view.
"There's Billy Williams!" was the cry. "And that's Texas, way over there. Here's Parson Stanard! And Jones!"