"Great Cæsar!" An exclamation interrupted him. Then a series of wild shouts arose on the night air, as a crunching and grinding suddenly sounded.
"What's up—what's the——" But Dave did not finish the sentence.
A violent shock tumbled the boys in a confused heap. Then came a terrific pounding. The "Dart" gave a convulsive shiver, turned sharply over on its side, and seven boys, wildly grabbing at empty space, were sent heels over head into the black water of Mountain Lake.
As he felt the chilling water encircle his neck, Tom Clifton gave a frantic shout for help. Then his cries were instantly stifled.
Choking, gripped by a terror which nerved him to fight with all the energy he possessed, Tom struggled to reach the surface. Unable, like the others, to swim, he could only kick and thresh out with his arms in a blind and desperate effort. He had a confused idea of touching bottom—then, gasping and choking, his head rose clear of the swirling water.
Vainly he tried to keep afloat. Down he went again, until his ears began to sing and the water poured down his throat. Then, as he gave up hope, something touched his collar with a firm, strong grip, and he felt himself rising. His head came above the surface for the second time, and a voice shouted in his ear, "Put your legs down and stand straight up!"
Dave Brandon's strong arms held him, and, mechanically obeying his friend's command, Tom found to his astonishment that by so doing he could touch bottom.
The wave of thankfulness which swept through him could not quite blot out the few awful moments through which he had just passed, and, for the time being, all he could do was to stand erect and hold on tight.
"Feel all right, Tommy?" asked the "poet," kindly.
It was difficult to talk, with the water bubbling and splashing around them. And the wind was cold. Even Dave's teeth were chattering and his words came out in a series of jerks.