CHAPTER XI.

A LEAP FOR LIFE AND FREEDOM.

Proceeding thus, with their hearts almost literally in their mouths and with nerves that throbbed painfully, the boys finally reached the side of the rock removed from the shore. To Tom’s huge delight, they found here, lighted dimly by a reflection from the white foam, a little ledge. By standing on this crouching as low as possible they would be safe enough from the bullets—that is, except one or more of the outlaws leaped to the rock. But this was extremely doubtful.

If two active boys like Tom and Jack Dacre had had great difficulty in doing so, it was hardly likely that the outlaws, men of irregular lives and clumsy movements, would be able to accomplish it.

A howl of surprise greeted the first knowledge the men on shore had of the disappearance of the boys, which came when their figures suddenly vanished from the rock. The general consensus of opinion following that was that they had fallen off and been swept to death in the swift current.

But an old fox like Bully Banjo was not the sort of man to leave the bank on that account. On the contrary, he determined to wait till daylight if necessary, and at that time he settled within himself, he would make certain if the boys had really drowned or if they had only found a spot on the rock where they could not be seen from the shore.

He ordered no move, but that the rock was to be watched, however. And so, in silent, dogged determination, the outlaws sat down to await the coming of the day. At last it began to grow faintly, dimly light. A nebulous chilly glow diffused itself through the canyon, bringing out its rough walls and their ragged, towering groups of pines and other conifers.

With the coming of day the men on the shore began to stir. Parties walked off along the rim of the stream in either direction, their purpose being to find, if possible, some trace of the boys.

In the meantime, the coming of the light had not, as Tom had hoped, revealed another rock between the one on which they stood and the shore. Instead, thirty feet or more of raging and, apparently, deep water lay between them and the other bank. It was impossible to jump it and already they were growing weak and faint from exposure and suspense.

The ledge was narrow, too, and slippery, and it was no small exertion in itself to keep a foothold on it for the length of time to which the lads had clung there. Both of them felt that they had almost reached the limit of their endurance. But neither of them wanted to admit it just then.

“I reckon they think ashore that we have drowned,” said Tom, at length, rightly fathoming the surmises of Simon Lake’s men. “If they knew what a fix we are in, they would start peppering again, I’ll bet.”

“To tell the truth,” said Jack, “I don’t see that we are in a much better position than we would be if we were ashore. We can tell by the voices that Lake’s men are on watch for us. If we show ourselves, it will be the signal for a fusillade.”

Tom shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“Well, why not? They have us at their mercy.”

“That is just it,” responded Tom soberly. “As soon as we show ourselves, they will, of course, know that we are not drowned. That being the case, all they have got to do is to keep the rock covered. Why, if they want to, they could keep us here till starvation finishes us off.”

“Unless we swim for it,” put in Jack.

“Swim for it?” Tom laughed grimly, and pointed to the water about them. “How long could a fellow last in that?”

“Well, I’d try it before I’d give Lake the satisfaction of starving us out,” responded Jack grittily.

“Same here,” replied Tom, “but I’ve got another plan in my head. The only thing is I don’t know if the means for working it out will come along before we drop off here from starvation.”

“You don’t mean that you’ve figured out a way of getting off here?” gasped Jack.

“I have,” rejoined Tom, “but it’s a very remote chance that it will be successful. It depends on so many things.”

“Say,” demanded Jack, “you’re not thinking of trying the jump to the other bank—you’d never make it.”

“I know that. So we’ll just hang on here and wait for the one chance in a hundred that I’m looking for.”

“And that is——”

“Well, you’ve noticed the logs that have been drifting by since it’s got daylight?”

“Yes.”

“Well, some of them have come quite close to this rock. If the worst comes to the worst——”

“It’s done that already,” interrupted Jack.

“I agree with you. But why couldn’t we grab one and trust to luck to its floating us out of here?”

Jack gave a delighted cry. The water was roaring so loud that it was not necessary to observe caution about noise.

“Tom, old fellow, you are a wonder!” he exclaimed. “Why on earth didn’t I think of that? It’s the very thing if——”

His face grew suddenly sober as he thought how much depended on that “if.”

“If the one chance in a hundred happens,” said Tom, gazing steadily up stream, “and, Jack, old boy, I believe that it is.”

“What!”

“Look up yonder, what’s that coming down the river?”

“Looks like a whole tree. It must have been uprooted in a freshet. Yes—it is a tree.”

“No, it isn’t, either.”

Jack looked at his brother in some amazement, but despite the seriousness of their predicament, he could not help smiling as the other went on:

“If things go right, that’s our boat.”

Breathlessly they watched the drifting tree as it was borne toward them on the crest of the current. It was a fairly large one, with a mass of roots sticking up at one end. Despite its size, the stream was carrying it along as if it had been a straw.

Almost before they knew it, the trunk was within a few feet of them.

“When I shout, don’t hesitate,” warned Tom, “for we’ll only have a second in which to act, and it’s our only chance.”

Jack nodded. With beating hearts and dry mouths, they watched the oncoming trunk. Suddenly it was borne off toward the other bank, out of all reach. A groan from Jack. But an eddy caught it the next instant and sent it hurling back again.

“It’s driving straight for us,” whispered Jack hoarsely.

Tom said nothing, but nodded to show he heard.

On came the tree, but as it was within a hand’s breadth of the rock, another eddy caught it and sent it staggering off again toward the other bank. But the boys were not going to be defeated by such an accident as that.

Bracing themselves, but still crouching so that their heads did not show above the rock, they jumped and landed in the tangle of roots. But, as might have been expected, their sudden weight had the effect of rolling the tree over. Submerged in the boiling current the two boys were hurried along.

Neither of them could tell you to this day how they escaped drowning, but they did.

Breathless, bruised, and with their clothes half torn from their backs, they succeeded in crawling around the roots till their heads were above the water. Helping each other, they struggled like two half-drowned flies till they succeeded in throwing themselves across the log so that it would not tip over completely. From time to time, though, it gave a lurch that threatened to topple them off altogether.

And so, half in and half out of the water, they shot from behind the shelter of the rock.

“Ther they be!” the shout went up from the shore, as Zeb Hunt’s sharp eyes espied the two clinging, half-submerged figures.

“The foxy young varmints! Let ’em hev it, byes!” yelled Simon Lake furiously.

But as the rifles were aimed, the tree was swung almost completely around by a sudden swing of the current, and the boys were borne out of range. The thick tangle of the roots hid them from the marksmen ashore.

The next instant, however, the capricious stream swung the log about once more. Instantly the white, racing water was flecked with bullets. Splinters from the ones which struck the tree showered about the boys. But either owing to the excitement of the riflemen, or to the erratic motions of the tree as it was tumbled along by the current, none of the bullets injured them. The next minute they would have been round a bend in the stream and safe from the rifles—at least, temporarily, when something occurred that made their hearts sink like lead.

The tree, which had been hitherto borne swiftly along, although in an eccentric course, grated, bumped, and then came to a stop.

A triumphant yell went up from the watchers on the shore as they saw it. They came running along the bank so as to pour in their fire from a position exactly opposite to the stranded tree.

“Quick, get round to the other side,” choked out Tom, blowing a stream of water out of his mouth.

Hand over hand among the roots, the lads at last succeeded in gaining the other side of the trunk. This put a thick barricade of solid timber between themselves and the riflemen.

“Now put your foot in the water and shove,” ordered Tom, suiting the action to the word. “This log is only stuck on a shoal. I think we can get her over if we try hard.”

They shoved till their muscles cracked, and at last, partly by their efforts and partly by the weight of the dammed-up water behind it, the great log quivered and then moved on.

This time it plunged into a deep, rapid pool that soon hurried it on, and almost before the boys knew it the shouts and shots behind them grew faint and then fainter, and finally died out altogether. Then, and only then, did they dare to raise themselves from their uncomfortable, not to say perilous, nooks among the roots and look out.

The first object Tom’s eyes fell upon was one calculated to make him withdraw his head instantly, like a turtle retreating into his shell.

The stream narrowed just ahead of them and roared between two walls of rock. On the summit of one of these rocks, standing where they must pass directly under him, was the sharply silhouetted figure of a man.

In his hands he grasped a rifle, seemingly ready for immediate action.