The rival bicyclists

The next day on account of the damage to the chimney, which was almost completely demolished by the lightning, there was no school and Joe and Sam Anderson got together and went off for a morning’s fishing.

The mountain streams about the place were much swollen because of the heavy rain, and they had little hope of catching much, but they thought the outing would be pleasant.

They started out bright and early, their poles over their shoulders and their tackle in a basket.

They soon had their lines in readiness, each fixed with a tempting bait.

Joe was the first to cast in, and also the first to draw out a fine fat fish, but Sam was not far behind.

Then they went further up the stream, each with a small string of fish at the end of his rod.

Hardly a hundred feet had been covered when a shrill scream startled both boys.

“What was that?” cried Sam, coming to a halt.

“A woman’s voice,” responded our hero.

Both listened intently.

Again the shrill cry rang out, coming from some distance up the stream.

“Come on!” called Joe, and set off on a run with Sam beside him.

A beautiful young girl was struggling wildly in the middle of the swiftly-flowing stream.

She had been in the act of crossing a cove when the bridge gave way in the center.

“She will be drowned,” ejaculated Sam Anderson.

“It is Carrie Burns!” called out Joe, a second later, and with a wildly beating heart.

“What’s to do?” asked Sam, as he stood helpless.

Our hero thought for a moment. To swim out into midstream and save the girl was out of the question. The water ran so swiftly no landing could be made with any burden.

“The fishlines!” cried Joe. “Be quick, Sam.”

He brought out his own line and Sam’s and twisted them together.

Then fastening the end of this double line around his waist he leaped boldly into the mountain torrent.

The water bubbled and foamed all around him. But he struck out undaunted.

“Save me!” cried Carrie Burns, and then she went under the surface, to reappear at a distance of fifty feet down stream.

When she came up Joe was but a few yards away. He struck out with renewed energy and soon managed to catch hold of her by the arm.

“Cling to me, Carrie!” he said, “and I will save you.”

“Oh, Joe, do not let me drown!” gasped the poor, frightened girl.

She clung to our hero, and he called out to Sam to haul in on the fishlines.

“And be careful,” he added, “or the line——”

He got no further.

Crack! Both lines parted and down the stream went Joe and the girl he was trying to save.

The force of the mountain stream rolled our hero and the girl over and over.

The girl gasped with terror and consequently swallowed a large quantity of water.

This filled her with terror and she clutched at Joe’s neck until he was almost strangled.

But he managed finally to keep her at a distance and in this manner they swept on and on.

The boy knew that something must be done, and that quickly. The girl could not endure the water much longer.

He looked ahead. Twenty yards further down stream was a clump of willows. Some of the long lashes hung within a foot or two of the surface of the bubbling torrent.

Could he grasp hold as they sped by? He resolved to try.

In a second more he was directly beneath the first of the overhanging boughs.

He sprang up as far as he could and caught hold of a handful of the lashes.

For a brief half-minute they held him, then one after another parted and he and his fair burden swept onward.

But Joe was not dismayed by this failure.

Another bough was reached, and again his hand went up. This time he caught hold of a strong bough, and although it bent far into the water, it did not break.

“Sam! Sam!” he called.

“I’m coming!” was the reply, and Sam Anderson appeared at the foot of the willow tree.

“Can you crawl out on the limb and help me?”

“I’ll try it,” replied Sam Anderson.

Throwing down his rods and lines Sam began the ascent of the tree.

Soon he was at a point directly over our hero’s head.

Holding on to the willow lashes with one hand, Joe raised the limp form of the girl with the other.

A lot of muscle was required to reach Sam, but it was not wanting.

As soon as Sam had Carrie Burns safe on the upper branch Joe climbed into the tree without trouble.

Between them they managed to get the girl to shore. Here they worked over her for ten minutes. At the end of that time she opened her eyes and sat up.

“Where am I?” she asked faintly.

“You are safe, Carrie, don’t worry,” replied Joe gently.

It was a full hour before Carrie Burns felt strong enough to return to her home.

Once again Joe was praised for his bravery. Mr. and Mrs. Burns were particularly warm toward our hero, while Dick fairly hugged him.

On the following day school opened as usual.

Jake Foley sneaked in without saying a word to anybody.

Lemuel Akers did not appear, nor did he show up for a week. Then he pretended to ignore Joe entirely.

About a week later Carl Lathrop proposed a game of hare and hounds.

The others eagerly assented, and an afternoon was set for the game.

Joe and Carl were chosen as hares, and Larry and Sam as captains of the hounds, or “whippers-in.”

To those who have never played the game, we would say that the hares are given a certain time to get away in, leaving a trail of white bits of paper behind them. Usually a game lasts half, or at times a whole day.

School let out early, and five minutes later our hero and Carl Lathrop were ready to leave, each with a big bag of white paper under his arm.

“All ready!” asked Sam.

“Yes.”

“Then away! Ten minutes for a start and no more!”

On the instant Joe and Carl were off.

“Which way?” asked Carl.

“Let us make for the Sand Cliffs.”

“All right.”

The Sand Cliffs were back of a long series of hills, about four miles from the schoolhouse.

As the two boys ran on they talked about the others.

“It’s funny Lemuel Akers wouldn’t join in,” said Carl. “I suppose he is mad because he wasn’t chosen a hare.”

“Well, somebody must be a hound,” replied Joe. “Never mind; let us forget the mean fellow.”

An hour’s running brought them to the Sand Cliffs.

“We must be pretty well ahead,” said Carl. “Let us rest for a few minutes in the shade.”

“All right; I’m willing,” said our hero.

The two threw themselves down at the foot of a high cliff.

As they did this a boy who had been taking it easy behind some bushes came out at the top of the cliff.

The boy was Lemuel Akers. When he saw Joe his face took on a hard, crafty look.

“So now I have you at my mercy!” he muttered to himself.

Close to the edge of the cliff rested a big rock. It lay in such a position that if rolled over the edge it would land directly upon our hero’s head.

Lemuel sized up the rock, and then, stealing up to it, shoved hard against it with his hands and his shoulder.

There was a scraping of loose pebbles, and then over the edge of the cliff rolled the rock, crashing down in a direct line for Joe’s head!

Had the big rock fallen as expected our hero would have been crushed to death.

But a single thing saved our hero. The falling of several loose pebbles caused him to look up just before the rock came down.

“Jump back!” he yelled to Carl.

And then he made one swift leap to the right.

Boom! Down came the rock, burying itself several inches in the sand. It had escaped Joe’s head by a narrow six inches.

The sand flew all over both boys.

Carl grew pale as death and was unable to say a word.

“By Jove, but that was a narrow escape,” murmured our hero as soon as he recovered from his shock.

When Akers realized how his plan had miscarried he fled from the spot.

“I—I wonder what made it come down?” gasped Carl at last.

“I suppose it was on the edge and we must have disturbed it when we shied those stones up at the birds,” replied Joe.

Not for a moment did he imagine that it was the work of his enemy. He was too good-hearted to think so ill of any one.

The boys were afraid the hounds would catch them, and so after leaving a bunch of white paper beside the big rock, they hurried on to finish the game of hare and hounds.

They ran along the Sand Cliffs for nearly a mile and then turned their noses homeward.

From a long distance behind came the toot of a horn carried by Sam Anderson.

“We are safe, unless we run into some pocket,” said Joe.

“We must be careful,” rejoined Carl.

Naturally light-hearted, both lads soon forgot the dire peril through which they had passed.

They ran on and on, across a patch of woods and then forded a brook, where they also stopped long enough to bathe their faces and get a drink.

“Run around that clump of bushes and across the lot and back and put the paper everywhere,” said Joe. “That will puzzle them to find the trail.”

This was done by Carl, and then on they went, almost as fresh as when they had started.

The woods passed, they emerged into a large sheep field. The flock of sheep was grazing at one end and they stopped for a minute to look at the animals.

Then on they went again, but the adventure on the Sand Cliffs had taken the sport out of Joe, and ere they reached home the hares were caught.

On the way to Lockport, Sam walked beside Joe and talked over the game.

“By the way,” said Sam. “Who do you suppose I saw sneaking along the Sand Cliffs?”

“Who?” asked our hero with much interest.

“Lemuel Akers. As soon as I saw him he darted out of sight.”

Joe did not answer to this. But he did a good bit of thinking.