Untitled

With the first break of day she was on the watch. She prepared no breakfast, nor did she touch that which the German woman generously offered.

Deb wandered up and down the street for two hours.

Still no Jack.

She visited the neighbors. Had this one seen him? No. Perhaps that one had? Not since yesterday morning.

Suddenly she grew very pale, and with faltering steps approached the jail.

The doorkeeper greeted her with evident surprise.

"What brings you here this morning?" he asked.

"My brother has been missing since last night," replied Deb, in a choking voice, "and I thought that perhaps you had--had locked him up again!"

"Why, no. Haven't seen him since he left," replied the man. "Missing, eh!" He gave a low whistle, "Hope he hasn't jumped his bail."

"What do you mean?"

"Run away to escape trial."

"Jack wouldn't do that."

"Can't tell. Fellows do unexpected things sometimes. So you don't know where he's gone?"

"No."

The doorkeeper reflected for a moment.

"Didn't he accuse somebody else of being the cause of the fire?" he asked.

"Yes, sir; he was almost certain it was done by a man named Mosey."

"And I believe this Mosey couldn't be found?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then maybe your brother has a clue, and is on the man's track."

This put the affair in a new light.

"Perhaps you are right," said Deb, slowly.

"Guess I am. Hope so, anyway."

"Thank you."

The girl breathed more freely when she got to the street. There was a good deal of consolation in what the doorkeeper had said.

She walked over toward the tool works, and saw Mont at one of the windows. A second later the young man came out with a packet of letters.

"I've just finished what remained of the work," he said. "Now I won't have hardly anything to do until we start up again."

He was surprised to learn that Jack had not yet put in his appearance.

"The doorkeeper must be right," he observed reflectively. "Who it was though, that stole the model, I can't imagine. Tell you what I'll do. I'll post these letters, and then walk out to that farmer's place and find out what I can."

When Deb returned home she found a man and a boy in the hall, waiting for her.

"Are you Miss Willington?" asked the man, politely.

"Yes, sir."

"Then I'm sorry, but unless you are able to pay the rent that is due, I have orders to put you out of the house."

Deb shrunk back in horror.

"Out of the house?" she repeated!

"Yes, ma'am, Mr. Hammerby served you with a three days' notice to quit, I believe?"

"He did--two days ago."

"Three days----"

"No, only two."

"Will you please let me see the paper?"

"He dated it a day back," explained Deb.

The man shrugged his shoulders.

"If he did, you should have complained of it at the time. I am a constable, and we people always go by the paper. I'm sorry to disturb you."

"Where will you--you put us?" faltered the girl, with a white face.

"Set your goods in the street," was the matter-of-fact reply. The constable was old in the service, and many cruel scenes had hardened his heart.

"Into the street!" wailed the poor girl.

"That's what I said, unless, of course, you can raise the eight dollars that's due."

"I haven't it now. But my brother expected to get fifty dollars from a man for an interest in an invention of his."

"When?"

"To-day. But my brother is away."

"Can't you get it?"

"Perhaps I can," replied Deb, hesitatingly. "I'll try, anyway. Will you wait till I come back?"

"Certainly," replied the constable, and he took a chair, and began to read the morning paper that he had brought with him.

While Deb was getting ready for her urgent errand, there was a noise outside, and Mr. Benton himself appeared.

"Where is your brother?" he demanded, without any preliminary salutation.

"I don't know, sir," replied the girl, her breath almost taken away by the suddenness of the question.

"They told me he was missing," continued the speculator. "I suppose that you have the model safe?"

"No, sir. It was stolen last evening."

Deb began to cry again. Mr. Benton caught her arm roughly.

"I don't believe a word you say!" he exclaimed, in harsh tones. "It's only a plot to do me out of my rights! But it won't work, understand that, it won't work. Either you must produce the model, or else I'll have you arrested for fraud!"

CHAPTER X.

DRIVEN FROM HOME

Deb looked at Mr. Benton in horror. It was only after several seconds that she fully realized the terrible accusation which he had brought against her.

"A plot!" she faltered. "What do you mean?"

"Only this," continued Mr. Benton, "your brother has run away to escape trial, and he has taken the model with him. You have helped him to do this. But it won't work. I pay my way, and a bargain's a bargain. If I have to pay the thousand dollars, I'll have the model or I'll know the reason why."

"But how do you know Jack has run away?"

"If he hasn't, where is he?"

"He went to a job in the country yesterday morning and hasn't returned yet."

"And you expect me to believe that story?" sneered the speculator.

"It's the truth," replied Deb, bursting into tears. "I'm sure Jack will come back. The model was stolen by a man who said my brother had sent him for it."

"And are you positive that your brother did not send him for it?"

"Almost, sir, because the man ran away with it when I promised to send it by some one else."

"Humph! Well, we'll see; I'll let the matter rest until to-morrow, and then we'll have a settlement."

With these words Mr. Benton pulled his hat more tightly than usual over his small, round head, and tripped down the stairs and out of the building.

Deb's heart sank like a clod. Her last hope was gone. She had counted on getting help from the speculator, and the result had been directly the opposite.

"Rec'on you won't get anything out of him," was the constable's grim comment. He had listened in silence to the brief interview, and now arose to continue his disagreeable but necessary duty.

"Isn't there any way at all of having this thing stopped?" asked the girl, bitterly.

"No; unless you get the money," was the man's reply, and pulling off his coat, he took up a couple of chairs, and marched down stairs.

Deb jumped up and followed him. Her heart beat wildly, and something in her throat nearly choked her. What could she do? Her thoughts ran to Mrs. Snitzer. She knew the kind German woman needed money as much as any of the tool works people did, but perhaps she could give some help, or offer some advice.

She flew to the door of her neighbor's apartments, and knocked eagerly. No answer came, and then she knocked more loudly than ever.

Suddenly she remembered that Mrs. Snitzer had signified her intention of taking her whole family to her brother's farm for a few days, and possibly until the end of the shut-down.

"It's no use, they're all gone!" she sighed. "There is no help to be had!"

Meanwhile the constable worked rapidly. In his time he had been in situations where the neighbors had interfered with him, and he wished to get away as soon as possible.

Soon there was quite a respectable stock of furniture and other household effects piled upon the sidewalk. Deb packed up the smaller stuff as fast as she could--the china and crockery in baskets, and the clothing and linen in the two old family trunks. Truth to admit, the constable did not hurry her a bit more than he could help.

Presently Deb went below to see that no one should walk away with some of their belongings. Her eyes were red and swollen, and a more wretched girl could not have been found in all Corney.

As she sat down on one of the upturned wash tubs she wondered what she was to do. She had no neighbors, and with the exception of the Snitzers they were all strangers to her--they on their part deeming her "stuck up," and perhaps rejoicing to see her placed in her present humiliating position.

The wild hope of Jack's return came constantly to her mind, and twice she ran down to the corner vainly straining her eyes to catch sight of his well-known form.

"If I had only accepted Mont's aid," she thought, "I wonder where I could find him?"

Presently the constable brought down the very last of the goods, and locking up the rooms, went away.

"Why, Deb, I declare, I didn't know you were going to move. You didn't say anything of it last Sunday. How lucky I came before you were gone! or, perhaps, how unlucky to come when you are all upside down. Never mind, go right ahead, and don't pay any attention to me. It's an awful job, isn't it? I haven't experienced moving in ten years, but I remember well that I didn't get straightened out for two months, and then it took twice that long to get accustomed to the new place. Where did you say you were moving to?"

And having thus delivered herself in one breath, the speaker, a middle-aged lady, who wore blue glasses, and was slightly deaf, took Deb's hand in a quick, nervous grasp, and peered into the care-worn face.

"Oh, Miss Parks, we are not moving at all!" cried out the girl, laying her head on her Sunday-school teacher's shoulder.

"Glad I called?" queried Miss Parks, misunderstanding her. "Well, now, seeing things as they are, I didn't expect it. But, maybe I can help you. I'm not overdressed, so just tell me what to do, and I'll go right to work. Hasn't the truck-man come yet?"

"We--are--not--moving," repeated Deb, putting her mouth close to Miss Parks's ear.

"No? Why--why--then something dreadful has happened, all your furniture out here on the sidewalk, with the dust a-blowing on 'em. What is it--fire? That's a dreadful thing. Even if things are not burned up, the smoke gets in 'em, and you can't get it out."

"It isn't fire," returned the unhappy girl, "it's because we can't pay the rent."

"Oh, dear!" Miss Parks was all sympathy at once. "I thought your brother was doing pretty well now," she added.

"So he was. But the tool works have shut down, and we can't get a cent from the bank."

The elderly maiden caught at the words.

"The bank! Isn't it awful. They wouldn't give me mine, yesterday, and I wanted it the worst way, too. But tell me about your trouble."

In a few words, spoken as plainly as possible, Deb poured her tale into the lady's ear.

"I heard about your brother being arrested for the fire," remarked Miss Parks. "But I didn't believe it. Mr. Long says Jack is such a good fellow, and such an excellent scholar."

"I'm glad you think so," burst out the girl. "Oh, Miss Parks, if people only knew Jack as well as I do, they wouldn't say such horrid things about him."

"Well, dear, we all have our trials, and must ask Him to help us bear them," replied the elderly maiden, with sincere piety. "But about the rent. How much is it?"

"Six dollars."

"Not much, truly. But it's more than I have, or I'd pay it in a minute. Have you any money at all?"

"Not over three dollars."

Miss Parks drew out her pocketbook, and examined the contents.

"Just a dollar," she exclaimed. "I declare we are both poor, with money in the bank, too." She paused a moment in deep thought. "I'll tell you what you might do."

"What?" asked Deb, eagerly.

"Move your things down to my house. I'll let you have the back bedroom and attic, and when you're settled we'll see what is to be done. Jack will be back before a great while, I'm certain."

Miss Parks was entirely alone in the world. The house that she occupied was her own, left her by an invalid uncle, whom she had nursed constantly during the last four years of his life. She was a dress-maker, and a lady's companion, and earned a fair living--a goodly portion of which found its way to charity and the church--for she was a devout Christian, and an earnest worker in the cause.

"Oh, thank you!" cried Deb, a heavy weight taken from her mind. "But won't it be inconvenient for you?"

"Not a bit. In fact I think I'll enjoy company."

"Then I'll accept your offer," continued the girl, "And I think it is real good of you to let me come."

Miss Parks bent down and kissed the tired cheeks.

"You're a good girl, Deb," she said. "You don't deserve such a trial as this."

A little later a truckman was engaged who speedily transferred the household goods to Deb's new home.

CHAPTER XI.

ON THE RIVER ROAD

Mont Gray hastened to the Corney postoffice with all possible speed. For his own sake, as well as for Deb's he wished to dispatch his business as quickly as possible, so as to devote the remainder of the day to hunting up Jack.

He was afraid that something out of the ordinary had befallen his friend. He had not wished to add to Deb's already deep anxiety, but he knew Jack too well to imagine that the young machinist would willfully keep his sister in ignorance of his whereabouts.

This feeling upon the young man's part might not have been so strong had all other surroundings been more tranquil. But since the shut-down at the tool works the air had been filled with murmurs of dissatisfaction--augmented largely by the suspension of the bank, and everywhere there prevailed a vague feeling that something was about to happen.

One thing was certain. Not a single one of his employes were satisfied with Mr. Felix Gray's management, and there were plenty of hot-headed men who wished him joy over his burnt mansion.

It did not take Mont long to post the letters, and then he struck out at once for the Farrell place.

It was a glorious morning, bright and clear, and when he reached the Redrock road he found the birds singing as merrily as could be.

In spite of the unpleasant things that had happened, Mont felt wonderfully light-hearted, the secret of which was that he was doing something for Deb--a service which he knew she would appreciate, and one which, therefore, he was more than willing to do.

As the young man walked along the river bank whistling cheerily to himself he espied a man coming toward him.

A moment later he recognized the individual as Andy Mosey.

"Wonder what he is doing out here," said Mont to himself. "Perhaps the prison keeper was right, and Jack is on his track--may be watching his chance to get evidence to convict him." When the discovery took place Mont was at a spot where the road ran close to the bank, and here he waited for the Irishman to come up.

As Mosey approached, it was easy to see that he had been drinking heavily. In truth it was but the continuance of his potations of the previous day.

"He had better take care, or he'll go over the bank, sure," was the young man's mental observation, as he watched the reeling form.

As Mosey drew nearer Mont noticed that his eyes were deeply sunken, and that despite the drink, his face looked pale and haggard.

"Possibly he is worried over his wrongdoings," thought Mont, hitting more truth than he imagined. "It's a pity such a strong fellow can't keep from liquor."

The Irishman shuffled directly toward Mont, without apparently noticing him.

"Hello," exclaimed the young man, sharply. "Where bound?"

The Irishman started up in surprise.

"Where you--hic--goin'?" he asked.

"I'm looking for Jack Willington. Have you seen him?"

Mosey gave a shudder. The remembrance of that awful scene in the old mill still hung in his mind.

"No--hic--no," he answered hastily. "Oi haven't see the b'y for two days," and he gave a lurch outward.

"Take care!" exclaimed Mont. "If you tumble over that bank you'll never get out again."

The Irishman drew as far away as possible from the water.

"You're roight, Mont, me b'y," he mumbled. "It's sure death, and no--hic--foolin'."

"So you're certain that you haven't seen Jack?" continued Mont. "He has been out here I know."

The effect of his last words was a truly astonishing one. With a cry of drunken rage, Mosey sprang toward him, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Ye can't come it over--hic--me!" he shouted. "Ye think ye're schmart, but yo're left this--hic--toime."

"What do you mean?" ejaculated Mont.

The extraordinary change in the Irishman's manner nearly dumbfounded him.

"Ye know well enough."

"Then you have seen him?" exclaimed the young man. "Oh, I see. He knows a thing or two about you, and----"

"He don't know--hic--nothin',--now," hiccoughed the Irishman. The liquor had muddled his brain.

"What!" gasped Mont, with a sudden sense of horror. "You--you----" he began.

He was standing with his heels against a small rock that overhung the bank.

"Ye can foind out fer--hic--yerself!" snarled Mosey, and with a quick spring he gave the young man a push that sent him spinning over backward. Mont tried to catch hold of the rock, but the smooth surface slipped from under his hands. He grasped the small bushes--they came out by the roots. He felt himself going down--down;--the glint of the sunshine upon the water sparkled in his face and then?

Mosey got down flat on the rocks and crawling to the edge, peered over the bank. He saw Mont's hat rise to the surface, and float swiftly along with the bounding stream.

"He's gone!" he muttered, hoarsely, after waiting for further signs of his victim. "Gone to the bottom!"

He crawled back to the middle of the road, and arose to his feet.

The awful occurrence had for the time sobered him, and he moved forward without a stagger.

"Bad worruk Oi'm doin'!" he muttered to himself. "Phat will Dennis say?"

The thought of his brother-in-law's possible condemnation of his actions made him shiver. He turned and slowly retraced his steps from whence he had come. He had not quite reached the spot when Corrigan's voice sounded in his ear.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Oi thought Oi'd go to Corney, but Oi changed me moind," was Mosey's reply.

"Good thing you did. They want you up there."

"Phat for?"

Mosey had stopped at the door, and now looked at his brother-in-law sharply.

"Oh, for setting fire to Gray's house," said Corrigan, with a laugh.

"Oh, Oi thought----" the Irishman suddenly checked himself. "Say, Oi didn't see ye on the road," he continued.

"I came up by the back way," replied Corrigan.

"Phy?"

Corrigan made no reply. To tell the truth, he did not wish Mosey to know that he had stolen Jack's model, and that precious article was now safely hidden in the loft of the mill.

"Phy don't ye answer me question?" continued Andy Mosey.

"Oh, I thought I'd try the other way for a change," said Corrigan, as lightly as possible. "How is the young fellow?" he continued, changing the subject.

"He's--he's gone," faltered Mosey. "He--he had a mishap, and fell into the wather."

"Drowned?"

"Yes."

Corrigan gave a whistle of surprise. He was on the point of asking the particulars, but suddenly changed his mind.

"Well, I'm glad he's out of the way," he declared.

Mosey walked into the mill, and sat down on a bench, the picture of fear and misery. Corrigan did not pay any further attention to him, but went upstairs and examined the model he had stolen.

"It is a beautiful piece of work!" was his mental comment, "and if I only work it right I'll make a neat stake out of it!" he added as he hid it away again.

CHAPTER XII.

JACK'S DANGEROUS POSITION

Meanwhile how had Jack fared?

His last cry for help had been cut short by his plunge into the river. With his hands still bound tightly behind him, he felt himself sink many feet, and then a few seconds later he regained the surface, and shook the water from his face. He found that the swiftly flowing tide had carried him several rods from the old mill, and well out toward mid-stream.

"I'm surely lost!" he said to himself with a shudder. "The falls are not more than a quarter of a mile below, and when I reach there----"

A shiver finished the sentence. In time past he had heard of several persons being carried over, and not one had lived to tell the story. What hope was there then for him?

He remembered that half way to the falls the stream narrowed considerably where the tide rushed with a roar that was deafening, and there were several huge rocks. Perhaps, if he could gain one of these, when morning came he might devise some means of escape.

He tried his best to slip off the cord from his wrists, which was the same cord that had been fastened to his feet, and which now dragged a considerable distance behind him. But the hemp was water soaked, and cut into his flesh until it bled.

On and on he was carried. It seemed that every instant the speed increased. It was useless to cry out--no one was near, even if indeed, his voice should reach the shore. His mind was filled with countless anxious thoughts. What would his friends think of his absence? What would Mont say? What would Deb do if he was lost?

Thinking of his dear sister was more painful than aught else, and he uttered a sincere prayer that his life might be spared, for her sake, if not for his own.

Presently, through the gloom came the noise of the water as it washed over and around the rocks below.

He lifted his head as high as possible, and strained his eyes to get a view of the situation, but water and foam were alone in sight.

Nearer and nearer he was now drawing. The water bubbled all around. Then like a flash a black object loomed to the right.

He struggled with all his power to gain it. Kicking and plunging, his side struck a rock.

He tried to grasp it, but it slipped. Another and still another passed. The water surged on all sides.

Suddenly his feet touched bottom. He threw himself with all his force against the current.

"Now or never!" were his thoughts. "For home and Deb!"

He flung his body to one side where a sharp rock stuck out of the water but a few inches, and, half turning, he threw his arm partly over it.

His feet were swept from under him, and as the cord upon his wrists still refused to part, his shoulder was nearly dislocated by the strain that was thus brought to bear.

Beside the sharp rock was another, and drawing a long breath, he gradually worked his way until he lay flat upon its surface.

This new resting place was not more than seven feet in length by three in width, yet to Jack it seemed a perfect island, so much more preferable was it to the cold water of the stream.

The young machinist lay quiet for a long time.

He was utterly exhausted, and it was no easy task to recover the wind that had been knocked out of him.

After a while, he turned over and sat up. He was afraid to try standing, fearful of losing his footing.

In the semi-darkness he calculated that the rocks leading to either shore were fully fifteen or twenty feet away--a distance which, in such a place as this, was as bad as a mile, so far as reaching them was concerned.

"If it was only a little lighter I might throw out the rope and catch fast somewhere," he said to himself. "As it is, I suppose I'll have to wait till morning."

But waiting was far from agreeable. Had he been sure of eventually escaping, it would have been different, but the doubt of this rendered his mind extremely uneasy.

Nearly an hour passed. It grew darker, and one by one the stars came out.

Ceaselessly the water tumbled and roared, as if it knew not the meaning of rest.

As we know, he had had but little sleep the night before, and now he was fagged out. Several times his eyes closed and his head nodded, but he always came to his senses.

"It will never do to go to sleep here?" he exclaimed. "Guess I'll try shouting. It will keep me awake, if nothing else."

He used his lungs to their full capacity, yet his voice was no stronger than the bleating of a lamb in a hurricane.

"No one will ever hear me," was his dismal comment, and then he stopped.

Another hour slowly passed.

To Jack it seemed like an age. He was getting benumbed by the cold water, and his limbs were stiff and sore. How long would it last? How long could it last?

Another hour!

It must surely be morning soon--he had been there certainly a full night already. Why didn't it grow light?

His eyes closed for a moment--more from exhaustion than sleep--and then they closed again.

Why, what was this?

Here he was safe at home! There was the supper table waiting, and Deb, in her neat, white apron, pouring out the tea! Now they sat down together and began to eat, when, hold up--there was a fire somewhere. Was it in their home? Yes, it must be for the fireman was at the window with a hose--and it was Mr. Gray! The water struck Jack in the ear.

"Help! help! I----"

The young machinist awoke in horror. He had slipped from the rock, and was again being madly whirled down the stream!

Oh! the agony of that moment! Why had he allowed himself to fall asleep?

Nothing but certain death now stared him in the face!

In the dim dawn he looked ahead and saw the line of white that marked the last of the breakwater above the awful descent.

"I'm gone, sure!" he sighed. "Good-by to home and Deb!"

On he swept with ever-increasing speed. The lofty brink was only a hundred feet away--now it was seventy-five--now fifty!

With a terrible cry he flung himself back, as if to ward off that which was inevitable.

Stop--what was this? The cord that was dragging behind him tightened; it grew tighter still--it stopped his progress!

"If it only holds!" was his one thought.

He waited, and looked back to see how the hemp had become fastened, but the surface of the water was without a break.

It held, and as it gradually tightened more and more, there slowly arose to the top, the limb of a huge tree that had probably been carried down the stream by the spring freshet.

The knot at the end of the rope had dragged itself fast in a notch between two of the smaller branches, and before it could loose itself, Jack caught the larger branch, and locked his feet tightly around it.

His weight threw the tree still more on its side, and this placed him high and dry several feet above the surface, and about a rod above the falls!

The position was a terrifying one. It made him dizzy to look at the boiling water as it fell, and the vortex below was awful to contemplate.

"I suppose this tree won't stick fast forever," he thought, "and even if it does, how can I ever hope to reach shore from here?"

How long he remained in this trying position, with life on one side, and death on the other, Jack never knew. He clung fast as never before, and to secure himself still further, tied the rope fast to the tree and to his own body.

It was now broad daylight. Surely some one passing on either shore would see and assist him.

But hour after hour dragged along, and no one came. It was getting toward noon, and the sun sent a glare all over the sparkling water.

What was this dark object that was floating so rapidly toward him?

A man!

The young machinist uttered an exclamation. The body came within his reach, and leaning over, he stayed its progress.

The form was limp and motionless, the eyes closed.

Jack turned it over.

"Mont Gray!" he shrieked. "Oh, Mont, Mont, are you dead?"

CHAPTER XIII.

OVER THE FALLS

Jack was never so amazed in his life as when he discovered that the pale, senseless form that he had dragged upon the tree beside him was no less a person than his friend, Mont Gray. But at that moment, he did not stop to question how the young man had gotten into a position similar to his own. His one thought was whether or not his friend was alive.

He placed the body as comfortably as possible on the fork of the tree, and then watched eagerly for some sign of life.

There was a cut upon Mont's brow, and presently a few drops of blood oozed from the wound, and trickled down his cheek.

Jack took this as a good sign, and he was not mistaken, for a few seconds later the young man gave a deep sigh, and slowly opened his eyes.

"Where am I?" he asked, faintly.

"Here with me, Mont," replied the young machinist, bending over him. "Don't you know me?"

"Jack!" was the low response. "Oh, how my head hurts! Where are we?"

"On the river."

"We are?" Mont attempted to rise, but Jack pushed him back. "Oh, I remember now!" he continued, shuddering.

"Remember what?" asked the young machinist, eagerly.

"The push Mosey gave me over the bank. My head struck a rock, and I don't know what happened after that. Where did you say we are?"

"In the middle of the river, just above the falls."

"How in the world did we get here? Oh, I see! You came out to rescue me!"

"No, I didn't. Mosey pitched me from the old mill last night, and I've been in the water ever since. I saw your body floating along, and without knowing who it was, caught hold and landed you here."

"You've saved my life," exclaimed Mont, fervently. "I'll never forget that, Jack!"

"I don't know whether I've saved your life or not," returned the young machinist, seriously. "It depends on whether we can reach shore or not; we are close to the falls, and liable to go over at any minute."

Mont pulled himself to a sitting position.

"Better take care!" cried Jack, "or you'll fall off. I am tied fast, and you are not. Here, take this end of the rope and bind yourself."

"Never mind. I'm all right now," replied the young man, as he viewed the situation. "It is a tight scrape, and no mistake," he added. "Wonder how this tree is wedged fast? Must be between the rocks."

"Yes, and it won't hold fast forever," returned Jack.

"We must reach shore, if possible, without delay."

"Easier said than done. Now if we had a rope----"

"Will this do?"

"No; it isn't long enough. Hello! something's giving way already!"

At that instant the trunk of the tree quivered, and moved a foot or so nearer the falls.

"Hold fast for your life!" Jack called; "perhaps it has broken loose!"

He had hardly uttered the words before the tree snapped its fastenings and swept toward the falls.

"Give me your hand, Mont," continued Jack, in a loud voice, seeing that his friend could not secure a good hold.

But before the young man could comply the tree turned over, and both were immersed.

In another instant, the willow, for such it was, had reached the brink. Here it hesitated for a moment, and then with a sharp sound it dove over the madly boiling mass into the maelstrom below!

The noise was terrific. Jack held on, closing his eyes, and forgetting everything.

He felt himself go down, down--and still further. The water rang in his ears, and many colors flickered in his mind's eye. The pressure from above was tremendous.

Ten seconds passed. He felt his senses leaving him. Mont's body bumped against him, and unconsciously he threw his own body partly around that of his friend.

Then all became a dim, dark uncertainty. The willow did not remain under the falls long. The rush of water soon forced it out into the stream below, and once there, it shot along, bearing upon its topmost branches two human bodies.

It drifted in mid-stream, gradually diminishing its speed, until an island stopped its further progress.

It struck upon a sandy shore, and the upper end swung gently around, catching fast in some overhanging bushes.

The bright sun shone down upon the scene as tranquilly as ever. Its warm rays apparently revived Jack, for, with a deep shudder--like one awakening from a horrible dream--the young machinist opened his eyes and endeavored to take in the situation.

He felt as if he had been pulled and beaten until not a spot was left in his body that did not ache. The rope was gone from his wrists, hands and face were cut, and his clothing was torn in a dozen places.

Yet he did not mind all this. He had a certain sense of security--a knowledge that he had passed through a great peril in safety--that more than outbalanced his present sufferings.

Suddenly he thought of Mont. He started up to discover his friend lying near, his face deadly white, and his head hanging over the branch like a lump of lead.

Jack saw that they were close to shore--where, he did not know nor care, and gathering all his remaining strength, he clasped Mont in his arms, and made a leap for solid ground.

He reached the shore, deposited his friend's body on the grass, and then, unable longer to stand, sank down beside the young man.

The moments dragged wearily along. Jack felt himself growing stronger, and by pure grit he arose and turned all his attention to Mont.

"Looks as if he was dead!" was the young machinist's awful thought. "I never saw a drowned man, but he is fearfully quiet. Yet, if there's a spark of life left in him, I'll fan it up if I kill myself doing it."

He knelt down, and taking off Mont's coat, unloosened his collar. Then he rolled him on his back, raising the lower part of the body as high as possible, which caused the water to run from Mont's mouth in a stream.

After this he moved his friend's arms backward and forward to induce respiration, and was rewarded presently by seeing the young man give a gulp and a gasp for breath.

"Thank heaven for that!" ejaculated Jack. "It's a good sign," and with strengthened hopes he continued his efforts.

It was fully half an hour before Mont came to himself and sat up. He, too, was bewildered at the situation.

"Where are we?" he asked, after a long silence, in which both sought to regain their strength.

"I think we are on Blackbird Island," replied Jack, slowly. "That is just below the falls, you know."

"Did we drift here?"

"I suppose so. I don't know any more than you. I came to my senses on the tree only a little while ago."

Mont rolled over on his back and drew a long breath.

"I'm tremendously tired," he explained. "Do you know anything of this place?"

"I have often heard of it, but was never here before. I wonder if anyone lives here?"

"Don't know. It looks rather wild."

"Tell you what we'll do," said Jack. "We'll rest here in the sun for a while and let our clothes dry, and then explore the place and see what means we can find of reaching the mainland."

Mont agreed, and making themselves as comfortable as possible, the two boys rested for over an hour, each in the meantime relating to the other his experience.

"Mosey is a bad egg," was Mont's conclusion; "I suppose he thinks that he has sent us both to our death," and then he told Jack about the stolen model.

The young machinist was much worried.

"It must have been Corrigan," he said, as he arose, and put on his coat. "I wonder what he expects to do with such booty?"

"Sell it if he can," replied the young man. "Hello!" he exclaimed, as he happened to glance up. "Here comes some one. A girl, I declare! What is she doing in this wilderness?"

CHAPTER XIV.

MAX POOLER'S MEG.

The girl who approached was a tall, gaunt creature, certainly not over ten years of age, yet with a knowing look of worldly experience in her pinched face and furtive black eyes.

She was sparingly dressed in an ill-fitting calico gown of ancient pattern. Her feet were bare and on her head rested a dilapidated sunbonnet. She carried a large pail on one arm, and made her way to a gushing spring but a few feet away from where Jack and Mont were reclining.

She started back in surprise upon seeing the pair, and as they sprang to their feet she made a hasty move as if to retreat.

"Don't run away, please," called out Jack. "We won't hurt you."

Thus reassured, the overgrown child--for she was naught else--stopped short, shyly swinging the empty pail from one hand to the other.

"Who're you?" she asked abruptly, as the young machinist came up.

"I'm Jack Willington, and this is my friend, Mont Gray."

"How'd you come here?" was the second question, asked as abruptly as the first.

"We had the misfortune to be carried over the falls," replied Jack.

The girl tossed her pretty, but by no means clean nose, in the air.

"Them falls?" she asked, pointing her long, thin finger to the mighty volume of water up the river.

"Yes."

She gave a contemptuous snicker.

"You can't stuff no such stories down me!" she ejaculated. "Them falls! You couldn't live a minnit in 'em! Think I believe such lies?"

"It's the truth, whether you believe it or not," put in Mont, "We were on that tree"--he pointed it out--"and that saved us. See, our clothes are still wet."

The girl was silent, more convinced by their genteel appearance, than by what was said, that she was being told the truth.

"What is your name?" asked Jack, curiously. He had never met such a unique character before.

"Meg," was the laconic reply.

"Meg? Meg what?"

"No, not Meg what; only Meg."

"But what is your other name?"

"Hain't got none."

"Oh, but you must have," put in Mont. He, too, was becoming interested.

"Never did--leastwise, never knowed it, anyway," and Meg grew sober for a moment.

"Do you live here?" asked Jack.

"Yep."

"Alone?"

"Nope. I live with Mr. Pooler."

"Who is he?"

The girl eyed the young machinist in surprise.

"Why, I thought everybody knew him," she said. "He's the man who owns this island."

"What, the whole of it?" exclaimed Mont, in astonishment.

"Yep."

"And you live here with him?" continued Jack.

"Yep. Have always."

"Any one else here besides you and him?"

"Not now. His wife used to, but she died last winter."

"I suppose you keep house for him?"

"Yep."

A faint smile accompanied the monosyllable this time.

"It's rather hard work for a girl like you," Jack remarked.

Meg tossed back her head.

"Hard! 'Tain't nothing; cookin' and cleanin' ain't. It's garden work that's tough. Look at them hands." She dropped the pail and held them up. "Been blistered lots of times hoein' and diggin'."