THE PLUNGE FROM THE BRIDGE.
Herbert was introduced to Foxhall and Snead. The former, with goggles
pushed up on his forehead, pulled off his gauntlet glove to shake
hands, saying he was mighty glad to meet Dade Newbert's chum, of whom
he'd heard so much from Newbert's lips.
"Yes," gurgled Snead, as he also shook hands; "according to Dade,
you're a warm old scout. Get right in here with me, and hang on when
Foxy turns on the juice, for there'll be something doing. I imagine
we'll touch only a few of the very elevated spots on our way back,
judging by the way he cut it out coming over. If you're nervous----"
"Don't worry about me," said Rackliff, as he settled himself beside the
fat fellow. "I'm simply dying for something to stir up my blood and
set it circulating."
Foxhall adjusted his goggles, switched on the current, and pressed a
button that started the engine.
"Ho! ho! We're off!" cried Newbert. "Just watch 'em rubber when we
zip down through town. There's a bump this side of the bridge; hang on
when we strike it, Herb."
Foxhall turned the car, yanking it round in a see-saw that was hard on
transmission and brakes and tires, and started with a jerk that gave a
snap to the necks of his three companions, cutting out the muffler as
he shifted swiftly through the gears into direct drive. When the main
street was reached the reckless youth scarcely slowed down at all to
take the turn, and the car came near skidding into the gutter.
"Isn't he the careless creature!" laughed Snead. "He always drives
this way, and he's never had an accident."
Past Roger Eliot's home and the white Methodist church they whizzed,
the automobile gathering speed on the down grade and obtaining enough
momentum to carry it a considerable distance even though the power
should be cut off and the brakes applied sufficiently hard to lock the
rear wheels. With the discordant electric horn snarling a demand for a
clear road, the foolish young driver tore up the dust through the very
heart of the village, regardless of his own safety and absolutely
ignoring the safety or rights of others. The postoffice spun by on the
left; the machine shot across the small square; down the steepest grade
of the hill it flew toward the bridge.
Despite the fact that he pretended to be as serene and unconcerned as
his companions, who, perhaps, did not realize the danger, Herbert
Rackliff was not fully at his ease; for he knew that such driving
through a place where there were intersecting streets with blind
corners was folly indeed.
As the bridge was approached the road swung to the left. At the very
end of the bridge an old building cut off the view of the greater part
of the structure from any one approaching from the main portion of the
village.
The "bump" of which Newbert had given warning was struck with
sufficient force to send the boys bouncing from their seats, and the
shock seemed to disturb Foxhall's hold on the steering wheel, for the
car swerved unpleasantly. The young driver brought it back with a
yank, and then----
"Look out!" screamed Herbert, jumping up in the tonneau.
A woman of middle age, seated in a rickety old wagon, with a child on
either side of her, was driving a young and half-broken horse into
Oakdale. The young horse snorted, attempted to turn round, and then
began to back up, cramping the wagon across the bridge. The woman
struggled vainly with the reins, in a perfect panic of terror, and the
children screamed, clinging to her.
Foxhall knew he could not stop the car, and to his credit let it be
said that he did his best to avoid striking and smashing the wagon--and
succeeded. Success, however, was costly; for, in attempting to turn
aside and shoot past, the wheel was pulled too sharply, and the machine
struck the wooden railing of the bridge, through which it cut as if the
railing had been built of cardboard.
Dade Newbert was the only one who managed to leap from the machine ere
it crashed through that railing and shot off in a clean leap for the
water below. Unimpeded by any barrier, Newbert jumped, struck the
ground, plunged forward, and went sliding at full length almost beneath
the wheels of the old wagon. Rackliff tried to jump, but he was on the
wrong side, and the tonneau door bothered him; however, as the machine
fell, with Snead sitting paralyzed in his place and Foxhall clinging to
the wheel, Herbert succeeded in flinging himself out over the side.
Surprising to relate, Dade Newbert was not seriously hurt, and, still
retaining a certain presence of mind, he scrambled back from the wagon
wheels and sat up on the bridge, covered with dirt, a rather woe-begone
spectacle. He was still sitting thus when the horse, having turned
about at last without upsetting the wagon, went galloping away across
the bridge; and he continued to sit there until some boys came running
down from the village, shouting as they ran, and asked him if he was
hurt.
Then Dade scrambled up. "Oh, mercy!" he gasped. "Don't mind me. I'm
all right. The other fellers--they'll be drowned!"
He ran to the side of the bridge and looked over. Foxhall was swimming
toward the nearest bank, with Snead puffing and blowing behind him; but
Rackliff, who had struck on his stomach sufficiently hard to have the
breath knocked out of him, was being carried away by the current,
struggling feebly.
With the idea of leaping in to help Herbert, Newbert pulled off his
coat; but before he could make the plunge some one flung him aside with
the sweep of a muscular arm and went shooting headlong like an arrow
toward the surface of the river.
People were running toward the bridge from various directions. Some of
the boys started down to help the swimmers out when they should reach
the shore; but no one else ventured to plunge into the river.
The one who had made that unhesitating plunge was Rodney Grant.
Springer, who had reached the spot a moment ahead of Rod, saw Grant as
he shot downward with hands outstretched and palms pressed together.
"Wh-why didn't I do it?" muttered Phil. "I didn't th-think quick
enough."
He saw Grant's head appear above the surface and beheld the Texan
striking out toward Rackliff with strong strokes that sent him forging
through the water. The gathering crowd on the bridge began to cheer
the rescuer.
"Of course!" whispered Phil savagely. "It's another feather in his
cap! He'll help the chap out of the drink, and everybody in town will
say it was a nervy and daring piece of heroism. Oh, I'm slow! I lost
my chance!"
At that moment his bitterness toward Grant was so intense that he felt
he could unhesitatingly go to any extreme to injure him. His lips
curled back from his teeth in a semblance of a snarl; he watched the
Texan reach the spot where Rackliff's head had an instant before
disappeared from view, saw him likewise plunge beneath the surface, and
beheld him rise, farther down the stream, with the still weakly
struggling fellow secured by a grip upon his coat collar at the back of
the neck. Deftly the rescuer swung Herbert round, face upward, upon
his back, and, holding him thus, with mouth and nose above the water,
began swimming toward the nearest shore.
The rapidly increasing crowd of spectators on the bridge cheered still
more vociferously.
"It's getting to be a regular sus-stunt of his, this rescuing people
from drowning," muttered Springer. "Hear them yell! Bah! What fools
people are! Why didn't I think quick enough to get ahead of him!"
A short distance below the bridge Foxhall was wading out of the water,
disdaining assistance. Snead, however, did not spurn the hands
extended to him when he came floundering and gurgling toward dry ground.
A dozen persons were running down toward the point for which Rodney
Grant was heading, all eager to take some part in the exciting rescue.
Of the boys who had rushed to the scene, Springer was the only one who
remained on the bridge. He waited until he beheld Grant stand on his
feet in shallow water and wade toward the bank, bearing Rackliff in his
arms.
"I don't propose to hang around and see them slobber over him," he
whispered hoarsely; "so I think I'll beat it, get a move on, dig."
As he turned away his eyes fell on a folded sheet of paper lying at his
feet, and within three feet of the paper he discovered a pocket
notebook. He picked up the paper and the notebook.
"Some one of that bunch dropped these," he decided. "Oh, but they were
lucky to come out of this scrape alive! I think this will cuc-cure
that idiot Foxhall of doing fancy stunts with his old man's gas cart."
Mechanically he unfolded the paper. There was writing upon it, and
Phil was suddenly chained in his tracks as his senses took in the
meaning of those several short sentences, each of which was written on
a separate line:
"Bat held in right hand means hit and run.
"In left hand, try the steal.
"In both hands, perpendicular, play safe.
"In both hands, horizontal, will sacrifice.
"In right hand, handle down, squeeze play."
This was as far as Phil read, but the list covered the entire page,
being condensed, with the lines very close together, at the bottom,
evidently in order to get everything on that side of the sheet.
Springer's eyes threatened to pop out of his head and his under jaw
sagged.
"Great snakes!" he gasped. "These are our playing signals!"
For a short time he stood there dazed, unconscious of the excitement
near at hand, deaf to the cheering of the crowd. He had thought at
first that the paper, like the notebook, must be the property of one of
those boys who had occupied the automobile, but, with the discovery of
what was written on that paper, he slowly arrived at the conclusion
that his original conviction was erroneous. The writing looked
familiar, too, although at that time he could not seem to recall the
person whose chirography it resembled.
"The notebook," he finally decided; "that may tell who it belongs to,
for doubtless the same chap dropped both."
On the fly leaf of the notebook he found the name of Dade Newbert. He
had refolded the paper, and was still staring at the name written in
the notebook when Newbert himself, greatly excited, rushed toward him,
crying:
"I say, that's mine! Dropped it out of my coat pocket when I pulled
the coat off. Give it to me."
He was still carrying his coat in his hand.
"Then you're Nun-Newbert, are you?" questioned Springer, who until this
day had never set eyes on the chap.
"Yes, yes. Gimme that! The paper, too. Have you----"
"Just picked them up," said Springer coolly, as he surrendered the
folded paper. "Lul-looked in the book to see who it belonged to,
that's all."
Newbert seemed to take a breath of relief. "I didn't know but you had
been---- Oh, fudge! I dropped them only a minute ago. Say, we've
kicked up a rumpus around here, haven't we? That fellow who pulled
Rack out of the drink saved me from getting a soaking, as I was just
going overboard after Herb. Rack thought he wouldn't take a bath this
morning, but he did, just the same. Ho! ho! ho!" The cause for the
laugh seemed to be nervousness and excitement rather than mirth.
"Rackliff!" muttered Springer, struck by sudden conviction.
"Old chum of mine. Don't suppose this little experience will do his
cold any good, I got Orv Foxhall to come over here for Herb this
morning with old man Foxy's bubble that's down there at the bottom of
the canal, where it's liable to stay for some time. I reckon we'll all
travel back to Wyndham by steam cars." He turned and ran toward the
crowd that was coming up from the scene of the rescue.
"Rackliff!" muttered Springer once more.
He knew now who had written those signals on that sheet of paper.