“Oh! oh!” moaned Hamp. “Poor Jerry! What shall we do? What shall we do?”
So complete and hopeless was their despair that what followed seemed at first like a dream. They heard a crackling sound, and then a plaintive cry. It was really Jerry’s voice, calling faintly for help from a distance.
Brick was the first to notice a dark blot some twenty feet out on the ice. He rushed toward it with a yell of delight, followed by Hamp and the stranger.
The dark blot was Jerry’s head and shoulders. The rim of broken ice fitted close to his armpits, and his outstretched hands were clutching at the glossy surface.
“Help! help!” he cried, in a weak and quavering voice. “I’m going under again, fellows.”
“No, you ain’t,” shouted Hamp. “We’ll save you. Hold on a minute.”
“Don’t go too near by yourself,” warned Jerry. “The ice will break.”
“That’s so,” cried Brick, giving one hand to Hamp. The stranger, in turn, took hold of Brick, and thus a triply-strong line was formed. Hamp went forward on his knees until he was able to grasp one of Jerry’s hands.
All pulled together. It was a time of terrible suspense. Twice Jerry was almost out of water, and twice the edge of the ice crumbled, letting him slip back.
Fortunately Hamp did not break through. He bravely withstood the strain, and, at last, a mighty effort pulled Jerry out beside him, and he was dragged to a place of safety.