"Chase—Chase!"
No answer.
Again and again he shouted, and then, as still no response came to his keenly-attuned ears, the boy was filled with dreadful forebodings, and in his anxiety he seemed to momentarily forget all else.
Shells were coming that way again. At any instant the road might be swept by another deadly stream. But Don Hale, whose mental faculties and strength began to return, paying not the slightest heed, started toward the ambulance, often splashing through great pools and puddles. The thunder still rolled and boomed overhead. There were longer intervals, however, between the flashes of lightning and it was not until he arrived quite abreast of the car that the landscape once more sprang into view.
Chase Manning was not in the driver's seat nor was he anywhere to be seen.
"Hello, Chase! Hello!" yelled Don.
Many times he repeated the cry, and if Chase had been uninjured and anywhere near he must have heard the strained, anxious voice of his comrade.
Had a tragedy occurred?
As Don Hale stood there in the middle of the road, with the wind and rain still sweeping against him, he shivered at the thought and at the recollection of the awful moments through which he had passed. It seemed to him a most marvelous thing that any one in that vicinity could have escaped alive.
Putting all the force of his lungs in a final effort, he shouted: