CHAPTER XXIII--FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH

It was in a tumult of excitement that the radio boys started out to run down Dan Cassey, who they felt sure was the rascal who had assaulted Brandon Harvey and robbed the safe. They were, too, in a frenzy of apprehension about the fate of their parents and friends out on the stormy sea.

Still they had been relieved to some extent by the assurances that vessels were hastening over the wild wastes of water to the help of the imperiled ship and by the knowledge that all had been done that could be done under the circumstances. It seemed to them that it was now clearly their duty to assist in the running down of a criminal who had made such a dastardly attack upon one of their best friends.

Their task was made the harder by the blackness of the night and the fury of the storm. The gale had risen in violence until it had reached nearly a hundred miles an hour. It buffeted them about, and at times turned them completely around. Fortunately the sand was sodden with rain, otherwise the boys would have been choked and blinded by the flying particles.

But the rain that helped them in this respect hindered them in another, for it drenched their clothes and made them cling close to their skins so that rapid progress was made almost impossible.

"Never mind, fellows," Bob shouted. "The same things that are bothering us are bothering Cassey too. But there's no use in our all sticking close together. Let's spread out like a fan, and if one of us doesn't come across him, another may. The first fellow that catches sight of him can let out a shout and we'll all close in. Come ahead now, fellows. Speed's the word."

They set out with redoubled determination and made their way the best they could against the fury of the elements. The din created by the roaring of the gale and the thunderous beating of the surf upon the beach was beyond description. It was like the roar of a dozen Niagaras, and fairly deafened the boys as they plowed along with heads down against the storm. And if it was as terrible as this on land, where at least they were safe, what must it be on the howling waste where was tossing at this moment the crippled ship that held their loved ones.

In the mind of each was that same vision--that ship a mere speck on the mighty waters, as helpless as a bird with a broken wing, utterly at the mercy of the giant of the storm.

Yet not utterly, thank God! The wonderful radio had flashed its message through the black night, had reached out over the mighty waves, had gone to one ship and said "Come," had gone to still another and said "Come," perhaps to still another and still another, always with the same message "Come! A comrade is in danger. I'll lead you to him. Come! Come quickly!"

And one gallant ship had heard and answered; and still another had heard and turned its prow in the direction of the sinking vessel, and by this time perhaps others were tearing through the waves toward the helpless craft that the ocean threatened to engulf.

This was the hope that buoyed up the comrades and kept them from despair as they hurried as fast as they could through the Egyptian darkness of the night.

The path that they were following, or rather the direction in which they were going--for in that blackness no path could be seen--was toward the bungalow colony, beyond which lay the town. It was their plan to go straight on to the town, if they were not successful in coming up with Cassey before they got there, and send out a description of the scoundrel to all nearby towns and warn the authorities to be on the alert to apprehend him.

Between the radio station and the bungalow colony was a little inlet into which the sea ebbed and flowed with the movement of the tide. It was from fifty to sixty feet wide, and a bridge stretched across it at a height of twenty feet above the water.

The inlet, or cove, was a comparatively quiet place and was much frequented by the boys, and indeed all the members of the bungalow colony, for fishing and paddling about in rowboats and canoes, craft that would have been too frail for the open sea.

"Must be getting pretty near the bridge, don't you think, fellows?" asked Bob, after they had got some distance from the radio station.

"Seems so to me," replied Joe. "Though in this darkness you can hardly see your hand before your face."

"We've got to be mighty careful and watch our step, or one of us will be tumbling in," said Herb. "And while I'm fond enough of bathing as a rule, I want to go in of my own accord."

"I guess we'll have to depend on our ears instead of our eyes to warn us when we're getting close," replied Joe. "And from what I think I hear, our ears will be quite sufficient. Listen!"

The boys stood still for a moment, and then they all heard a sibilant, shrill, hissing sound that was entirely distinct from the beating of the surf along the shore.

"That's something new," remarked Bob. "We didn't hear that when we came from the colony a little while ago."

"No," replied Joe. "But in the meantime the ocean has been getting in its work and has forced its way into the inlet. From the sound, the water's rushing through there like a mill race. And it's all the fiercer because the channel is so narrow. I guess Herb was right when he said we'd have to watch our step."

"Let's all keep close together until we've got on the other side," suggested Bob. "It seems to me that I can see the outline of the bridge just a little way ahead."

By advancing slowly, step at a time, they found their way to the entrance to the bridge and Bob heaved a sigh of relief as his hand rested on the railing.

"Here we are all right," he said. "Now follow close in Indian file."

"The inlet has surely gone on a rampage," Joe remarked. "Just hear the way the water goes tearing along. And from the sound it isn't so far below the level of the bridge. Don't let's dawdle, fellows. I for one will feel a mighty sight better when we get on the other side."

The others felt the same way, and all quickened their steps. Nor was their apprehension allayed by the way the bridge shook and quivered beneath their feet.

They had nearly reached the middle of the span when an ominous cracking was heard.

"Quick, fellows, quick!" shouted Bob. "The bridge is breaking. Run for your lives!"

He sprang forward like a deer and the others followed him pell-mell. They could feel the bridge giving way beneath them, and the hiss of the water was drowned by the horrid roar of crashing timbers. One last frantic rush and they cleared the bridge and felt the solid ground beneath their feet.

They were not an instant too soon. Even as their feet left the planking there was a splintering crash and the bridge parted in the middle. The ends still clung to the abutments on either side, but the central portions fell into the stream, where they were swung to and fro by the force of the current so violently that it seemed that but a short time would elapse before the ends also would be torn loose from the banks and the whole structure swept down toward the sea.

Cold chills chased each other up and down the boys' spines as they realized what a narrow escape they had had from being engulfed in those raging waters.

"That was a close call," panted Bob, as he took out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his face.

"I'll tell the world it was," agreed Joe.

"Another five minutes, yes, another five seconds, and we'd have gone down with it," said Herb. "And I hate to think what it would mean to be fighting for life in that whirlpool."

"Well, we didn't go down, thank Heaven," rejoined Bob. "And a miss is as good as a mile. But where's Jimmy?" he asked suddenly, as he saw that only two were standing beside him.

"Why, he must be right around here," replied Joe, peering into the darkness on either side. "I suppose he's sitting down for a minute to get his breath. Jimmy," he called.

There was no answer.

An awful fear clutched at the boys' hearts.

"He's trying to scare us," ventured Herb, but without much conviction in his tones.

"Jimmy! Jimmy!" called Bob. "Don't frighten us, old scout. Where are you?"

Again that dead, terrible silence.

Then, so thin and weak that it sounded as though from a great way off, they heard Jimmy's voice.

"Help! Help!"

"He's down in the water," cried Joe.

"He didn't get off the bridge in time," Herb shrieked, in an agony of apprehension.

The three boys rushed to the bank and peered down into the dense darkness where the only light they could discern came from the white spray that crested the waves of the raging torrent.

"Jimmy!" Bob shouted at the top of his voice. "Where are you?"

"I'm down here in the water," came Jimmy's voice. "I'm holding on to the broken end of the bridge. But I can't hold on much longer. Hurry up, fellows, or I'm a goner."

The boys were frantic with excitement.

"Hold on, Jimmy!" yelled Bob. "Hold on, for the love of Pete! We'll get you!"

But how?

The broken part of the bridge hung almost perpendicularly for a distance of nearly twenty feet before it reached the water. The rain had made it as slippery as glass. The end on the bank was grinding at its supports and threatened every moment to tear loose and fall into the stream.

All these things Bob took in, in a flash.

"There's only one way," he said grimly. "And I'm going to take it. I'm going to work my way down and try to get him."

"Let me go," put in Joe, but Bob was off before any one could stop him.

He threw himself down flat on the bridge and began to work his way down backward on his hands and knees. The slope was so steep that it was like going down a ladder, with the difference that with a ladder he would have had rungs on which he could have planted his feet solidly, while here he had to dig his fingers and toes into every crevice he could find to keep himself from sliding down into the abyss of waters. Foot by foot, with infinite care and caution, he let himself down, keeping his eyes shut so that the sight of the madly racing waters beneath him should not make him dizzy and force him to let go his hold.

"I'm coming!" he shouted. "Hold on. I'm coming. I'll be with you in a minute."

"I'll try to, but my arm is getting numb," answered Jimmy. "Hurt it when I went down, I guess. My fingers are slipping. Hurry."

A flash of lightning came just then, and Bob, looking over his shoulder, caught a glimpse of Jimmy's face, usually so ruddy, but now ghastly white. His body was in the water and swung to and fro, while one hand clung desperately to a part of the broken bridge railing from which the waves were trying to wrench him.

"I'm going," cried Jimmy despairingly. "Oh, Bob, hurry!"

"Hold on," shouted Bob. "Hold on just one second more!"

He reached his comrade just as Jimmy's cramped fingers were torn from their support. Like lightning, Bob's arm shot out and grasped Jimmy's wrist.

"I've got you, old boy," he shouted. "Just try to keep your head above water and I'll pull you out."

With one arm thrown over the railing of the bridge to give him purchase, he pulled Jimmy toward him with all his strength. The current tugged at Jimmy's body like a ravenous beast unwilling to be balked of its prey. But although the muscles of Bob's arm felt as though they would break, the indomitable will behind them had its way, and inch by inch he drew Jimmy in until the latter was able to get hold of the swaying planks and lessen in part the strain. Then with infinite care and the utmost exertion of his strength, he half helped, half lifted Jimmy out on the planking, where he lay exhausted and gasping.