His voice quavered and broke; he dashed a tear from his eye. Hamp was crying, too. Loud sobs burst from his bosom. Just then the stranger reached the spot. He had seen the accident from a distance.
“Which one was it?” he demanded. “Which one? Tell me his name, quick.”
It was a strange request, and he spoke in eager, excited tones. But the boys were too much concerned to notice such a trifle.
“It—it was Jerry,” sobbed Hamp.
“Jerry who?”
“Jerry—Jerry Brenton.”
“Brenton? Ah!”
The man’s voice and manner showed intense relief.
“Poor fellow,” he added. “Nothing can be done to help him. The water is deep, and he must have been carried far under the ice. Where is the catamount—the author of all the mischief?”
This was a heartless question, and the boys were too indignant to reply. At such a moment they would have cared little for a dozen catamounts.