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.