n to bark furiously. Worse still, the sound came from between them
and the fence, so that escape was cut off.

"This way," cried Ned, dashing toward the corner of the house. "We may
find shelter in the outbuildings."

He had taken but a dozen steps when his feet clattered on some loose
boards. These gave way with a crash, and after a brief drop through
empty space, he plunged into ice cold water, going clear under the
surface.

The noise of the splitting wood that followed warned Clay of his danger.
He stood stock still, trembling in every limb.

The dog did not appear to be coming any nearer, and his shrill barking
was now mingled with the clank of chains. All at once Clay comprehended
the situation. The brute was fastened to his kennel somewhere near the
gate, and was therefore powerless to do harm.

Clay's presence of mind quickly returned. He drew a match from his
pocket and struck it on his shoe just as a feeble cry for help came
apparently from the bowels of the earth.

As the blaze flared up Clay saw the partially covered mouth of a well
just in front of him. The gap between the planking showed where Ned had
fallen through.

Clay was terribly alarmed, but he had sufficient presence of mind to
kneel beside the orifice and hold the match down.

"Are you hurt, Ned?" he cried huskily. "Can you hold out for a moment or
two?"

"I'm all right so far," came the reply in a feeble, chattering voice. "I
can't stand it long, though. The water is over my head, and I'm holding
on to the cracks in the wall. Waken the family, quick!"

CHAPTER XIII

OVER THE CLIFF

Ned's last injunction was quite unnecessary. The loud outcry of the dog
had already roused the family.

Heads were poked from two or three windows, and a shrill feminine voice
was shouting: "Get the gun, pap, get the gun!"

Meanwhile Clay continued to call for help at the top of his voice,
finally drowning out the ferocious barking of the dog, and after what
seemed an interminable length of time the door of the house opened and
the farmer appeared on the threshold, attired in shirt and trousers.

He had a gun in one hand and a candle in the other. Behind him were two
good sized lads armed with clubs, while the flutter of a petticoat was
visible on the stairway.

"Hurry! hurry!" cried Clay. "There's some one down the well."

The farmer crossed the yard with provoking calmness, holding his gun
ready for use.

"Why, it's only a boy!" he exc