“Stop her, somebody! We will all be drowned!” See page [74].

Tour of the Zero Club

OR
Adventures Amid Ice and Snow

BY
CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL
AUTHOR OF
“Neka, the Boy Conjuror,” “For the Liberty of Texas,”
“Boys of the Fort,” etc.

NEW YORK AND LONDON
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1902
By STREET & SMITH

Tour of the Zero Club

CONTENTS.

TOUR OF THE ZERO CLUB.

CHAPTER I.
ON THE TOBOGGAN-SLIDE.

“All ready?”

“All ready!”

“Then here we go! Hold on, everybody, unless you want to be sent flying when we reach the curve!”

As Harry Webb uttered the last words he gave his long toboggan, the Buster, a final shove, and hopped on behind his three companions, and away they started on the trip down Doublehead Hill.

It was a stirring scene. The upper and lower hills, although light in the full moon, were made doubly bright by the scores of bonfires and pine torches which blazed on either side of the narrow toboggan-slide.

Scores of boys and girls were out, and not a few ladies and gentlemen also, and all looked warm and happy in their gayly-colored toboggan suits.

The long, low sleds were out by the dozens, and Jack Bascoe, who was steering the Buster as best he could, had a difficult time of it, keeping clear of dangerous collisions.

“By jingo! but this is fine!” cried Andy Bascoe, Jack’s younger brother. “Who would want better sport than this?”

“You’re right, it’s fine!” returned Boxy Woodruff, the most light-hearted boy in Rudskill. “A fellow would like to keep sailing like this forever, eh? Just spread out your arms and—wow!”

Boxy’s imitation of flying came to a sudden stop as the toboggan shot over a little hill and came down with a thump on the other side. He was thrown a bit to one side, and only saved himself by grasping Jack Bascoe around the middle with both arms.

“Hold on, Boxy!” cried Jack, a little alarmed.

“That’s what I’m doing,” returned Boxy.

“I feel you,” said Jack, grimly. “But don’t pull me off, please. I’ve got to keep my eyes open for the other toboggans and sleds, you know.”

“I’m all right now, and I’ll do my flying act some other time,” returned Boxy.

“Here comes the Whistler!” cried Harry. “We ought to be able to beat Pete Sully’s toboggan.”

“Of course!” added Andy.

“Everybody push!” put in Boxy, in a dry way that made them all laugh. “Maybe you would like me to get off and help pull,” he added, in mock seriousness.

As they were going at a speed little less than a mile a minute down the long hill, the others laughed louder than ever.

The Whistler, with Pete Sully, the bully of the town, and several of his chums, was creeping up by their side. It was a brand-new toboggan, and slid along as though greased.

“You fellows ain’t in it any more!” shouted Sully to Harry, as he came within speaking distance. “Here’s where we leave you away behind!”

“You’ve got more weight!” returned Harry. “Give me the same weight, and the Buster will walk away from you with ease.”

“I’ll bet you a dollar you can’t!” shouted Sully.

“I haven’t got a dollar to bet, Pete,” replied Harry, and he told the truth, for, although he owned the Buster, Harry Webb was poor, and had not known what it was to own a dollar for several years, ever since his father had lost his money in an unfortunate real estate speculation.

“Oh, you’re afraid to bet,” cried Sully, mockingly. “Good-by, slow boots!”

“I’ll bet my pocket-knife against yours we can beat you!” said Harry, considerably nettled by Sully’s taunts. “We will take the same number aboard and try our skill.”

“Done!” yelled Sully, for he was now several rods ahead.

Down the last of the second hill and along the level road shot the Buster, and presently came to a standstill just where the Rudskill turnpike branched off across the railroad tracks. The Whistler had gone on a couple of hundred feet farther up the side of the tracks.

“Told you we’d beat you!” exclaimed Pete Sully, as he and his chums joined Harry and his friends. “You had better not bet your pocket-knife unless you want to lose it.”

“I am not afraid to try against you, Sully, and perhaps it will be you who will lose his pocket-knife.”

“Humph!” sneered Sully. “No fear. And if I did, I guess I could buy another easy enough, even if somebody else couldn’t.”

This was a direct shot at Harry’s poverty, and made the ears of the poor boy tingle, while his handsome face flushed.

“Come on and try your skill and quit your talking,” exclaimed Jack Bascoe, rather sharply, and he faced Sully as he spoke. “There is no use in wasting time here.”

Had it been any one else than Jack Bascoe who had spoken thus suggestively to him, Pete Sully might have picked a quarrel then and there. He was a very overbearing boy, and never allowed a chance of whipping some other boy go by him.

But the truth of the matter was, that he had once run up against Jack’s fist in a most surprising fashion. Blood had flowed freely, and from that time on the bully of Rudskill knew there were two boys in the town he dare not molest, Jack and his younger brother, Andy.

So, muttering something under his breath which Harry and his friends could not hear, Sully and his cohorts began to drag their toboggan up the long hillside. They were followed by the other boys, with the Buster. The walk was a tedious one, especially so to the two sides that wished to race each other.

“Whom shall we get to add weight?” asked Harry, as they at last gained the starting-place. “I don’t see any of our crowd here; do you?”

“I don’t,” returned Jack.

“What’s the matter with Pickles Johnsing?” put in Boxy. “He’s got enough weight for two.”

Pickles Johnsing was a stout, round-faced colored boy, with big red lips, and teeth which reminded one very forcibly of double-blank dominoes set in twin rows. He was a very willing and decent sort of a young darky, and had many friends in the little river town in which my story for the present is located.

“He’ll do first-rate,” said Harry. “Hello, Pickles!” he shouted.

“Hullo, dar, Harry!” returned the colored boy. “Got yo’ tobog out ag’in, I see.”

“Yes, Pickles, and we want you to ride down with us this trip. Put your bread-shovel out of the way.”

“T’anks, Harry, I’se like to ride down on de Buster fust-rate,” grinned Pickles. “Wot yo’ gwine ter do, race Pete Sully?”

“Yes, Pickles, and we must beat him,” replied Andy. “You know just how to help us along.”

“Humph! if he ain’t going to take that coon on the trip!” sneered Pete Sully.

“You ain’t racing niggers, are you, Pete?” questioned one of his followers.

“I don’t know as I am,” returned Pete Sully, slowly.

He walked over to where Harry sat on his toboggan.

“I expected to race white fellows,” he remarked, sourly.

“Pickles is all right,” said Jack Bascoe. “He’s the dark horse to win. If you are going to race, get ready, for Harry isn’t going to wait all night for you.”

“Where’s that knife!” demanded Sully, thus changing the subject.

“Here it is,” replied Harry, producing it. “Four blades, and every one in good condition. Where is yours?”

“It’s just as good as that,” retorted Sully, bringing forth his pocket-knife. “Four blades and a corkscrew.”

“Who’s going to hold them as stakes?” questioned Bill Dixon, Sully’s most intimate chum.

The matter was talked over for several minutes, and finally a gentleman who had come to the hill to look at the sport agreed to become stakeholder.

Before the matter was decided, however, Sully did a good deal of whispering to Bill Dixon, who immediately left the crowd, which had moved over to the largest of the nearby campfires.

At last all was in readiness for the start. Hearing of the race, many on the course left their toboggans and sleds to witness the contest.

“Now, remember, the first to reach the railroad track switch wins the race,” shouted the stakeholder. “Are you ready?”

“We are,” said Sully.

“Then—go!”

With a great push, Sully sent the Whistler on the downward course in fine style. Harry likewise gave the Buster a good shove, and his toboggan also started. But he was a rod behind the other sled in the fraction of a second.

“Something is dragging under us!” cried Andy, quickly. “I can feel it plainly.”

“What can it be?” exclaimed Harry, in alarm. “Anybody’s clothing caught?”

“My clo’ all hunky,” replied Pickles. “Dat feels like it was a rope under dar. Did yo’ tie a rope to de tobog, Harry?”

“I took the rope off and left it with Mr. Bruley when we started,” returned the owner of the Buster. “It’s no use,” he groaned. “They’ll reach the tracks before we are half-way down!”

In the meanwhile Boxy Woodruff was feeling along the side of the toboggan. It was not long before his hand came in contact with an end of wash-line.

“Here it is, tied around the toboggan!” he cried. “I’ll bet this is some of Pete Sully’s underhanded work!”

“Yank it loose, can’t you?” exclaimed Harry, anxiously. “Cut it or break it—something.”

Boxy pulled with all of his strength, and the wash-line, which, luckily, was old and rotten, parted. An instant later it was clear of the toboggan bottom, and streaming along behind like the thin tail of a kite.

Freed from this hindrance, the Buster shot forward on its course. Like a comet it passed over the brow of the second hill, with the Whistler over a hundred feet ahead. Could they regain the ground they had lost?

CHAPTER II.
LOST OR WON?

It was one thing for the boys on the Buster to wish to range alongside of the Whistler again, but it was quite a different thing to do it.

Both toboggans were rushing along with furious speed, and now the end of the course was close at hand.

“Sit jess a little moah to de front,” was Pickles’ suggestion, and it was immediately acted upon.

“Didn’t I tell you you wasn’t in it?” shouted Pete Sully, derisively.

“There isn’t a toboggan around Rudskill can beat the Whistler!” put in Bill Dixon.

On and on went the two toboggans. The last little rise was passed and the speed began to slacken.

Suddenly the Whistler struck a snag—the dead limb of a tree, which was half-hidden in the snow.

It quickly swerved out of its course, directly in the path of the oncoming Buster.

“Get out of the way!” shouted Jack Bascoe, who was, as usual, in the front. “Turn her around, Sully!”

“Don’t run into us!” shrieked several on board of the Whistler. “To the right! To the right!”

Those on the Buster tried to do as advised, not only for the sake of their rivals, but also to save themselves. But it was too late to do much. The Buster swung around a trifle, and then came up sideways with a bang, and out into the snow flew every one of the boys on both toboggans.

Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt, although several faces and hands were scratched, and Pickles got a bruise in the shin, his one weak spot. All were soon on their feet, and the toboggans were dragged to one side, out of the way of any that might be following.

“What did you mean by running into us?” demanded Pete Sully, hotly, as he stalked up to Harry.

“What could we do when you blocked up the course?” retorted the owner of the Buster.

“We didn’t block up the course!”

“You certainly did,” interposed Jack. “You ought to be thankful that we didn’t run right over you.”

“It wasn’t fair!”

“It was fair,” said Harry. “But I’ll tell you what was not fair—tying that wash-line under my toboggan, and that’s just what one of your crowd did.”

“What’s that?” growled Bill Dixon. “We didn’t touch your confounded bread-shovel.”

“Some one tied that rope on,” said Andy, picking up the line in question. “It smells like your rope, Longman,” he went on, to a boy whose father was the captain of a schooner on the river. “It’s a regular tarred line.”

“See here, because you lost the race, you needn’t claim a foul!” growled Sully, wrathfully. “You may think——”

“Lose the race!” came in a chorus from those who had rode upon the Buster.

“We lost no race!” added Jack, vigorously.

“Yes, you did.”

“I certainly don’t see it.”

“You ran into us, and that gives us the race,” said Bill Dixon.

“Not by a jugful,” exclaimed Harry. “We were on the left, where we belonged. Had you kept to the right——”

“You’d have been all right,” finished Boxy. “Come on up the hill and try it over again.”

“I won’t do it,” returned Sully, sourly. “It’s my race.”

“He won’t race because we’ve found out about that rope,” said Harry, growing angry. “I’m going to tell the crowd about it as soon as we get to the top of the hill.”

“Do you mean to say that I placed that rope under your toboggan?” blustered Sully, stepping up to him with clinched fists.

“One of your crowd did,” returned Harry. “It was put there for the sole purpose of keeping us back.”

“If you say I put it there, I’ll hammer you!”

“You heard what I said. I am not prepared to say more—just now. You may hear from me later.”

Thus talking, the two crowds made their way to the top of the hill. Here they found an excited group of boys waiting for them.

“Did the Whistler win?” cried several.

“Certainly we won!” replied Sully.

“It was no race,” explained Jack. “They struck a snag, and we ran into them while they were on our side of the course.”

“Somebody said that Dixon boy tied a rope under your toboggan,” remarked the gentleman who held the two pocket-knives, to Harry. “Did you find anything wrong?”

“We did!” cried the boy. “Here is the rope. Who saw Dixon do it?”

The question was passed around, and it finally leaked out that three boys in the crowd had seen the sneaking action performed. Dixon had taken the rope from Longman’s sled, and this Longman was finally forced to admit.

“No race,” said the stakeholder, promptly. “I will give both boys their pocket-knives. Dixon, you ought to be ruled off the slide,” he added to the bully’s toady.

“I don’t care, I claim that race,” said Sully, loudly. “I don’t care a rap about the pocket-knife. It’s not half as good as my own.”

Harry wanted to try again, but the bully declined, saying it was getting late, and he was expected home. In reality, Sully was afraid to race fairly.

“We’ll try our good points at the skating races day after to-morrow,” he said to Harry. “You mustn’t forget that I am in the five-mile race against you and Jack Bascoe, and Milne and the rest.”

“I have a good memory,” returned Harry, pointedly. “And you can rest assured that we’ll look out for any more rope tricks,” and with this parting shot he walked off with his toboggan, accompanied by Jack and the others.

“Dat dere Sully makes me mos’ drefful sick,” said Pickles. “He t’inks de hull town must bow to him. It would be de best t’ing in de world if da would jess git togedder and run him off de co’s.”

“One of us must beat him in that race,” said Jack, decidedly. “If he wins, he won’t stop crowing for a month.”

“You can do it, Jack,” said Andy, who had great confidence in his older brother’s abilities. “He hasn’t near the wind you have.”

“That may be, but he’s got everlastingly long legs, Andy; don’t forget that.”

“I’ll bank on Harry,” put in Boxy, who was Harry’s most intimate friend, having lived next door to him for years. “His legs are pretty long, and his wind is right there every time.”

“Well, I don’t care if I do lose, if Harry wins,” said Jack. “So long as we keep the first prize away from the Sully crowd.”

“I’m going to do my best to win that race,” put in Harry. “Not only for the honor, but because I want the money.”

“Has Mr. Grimes decided to put up a purse?” asked Jack, quickly.

“He told me he would put up a gold medal, but if any one wanted it, he would buy the medal back for fifteen dollars. And if I had fifteen dollars I wouldn’t have to ask father for a cent of spending money for a year.”

“And you could go on that tour with us, couldn’t you?” put in Boxy, quickly. “That is, if we go.”

“I suppose I could,” returned Harry, thoughtfully.

The idea of a winter tour had been in the minds of this crowd of boys for several weeks. Rudskill was situated upon the banks of a well-known river in New York State, and their idea was to build an iceboat, and cruise up the river a distance of some forty miles, and then start on a trip among the mountains to a sheet of water, which I shall call Rock Island Lake. Once on the lake, they would cross it on skates, and then locate a winter camp in the heart of the mountains on the western side, where they could spend several weeks in hunting and fishing and other winter sports.

The four boys had already formed themselves into an organization which they called the Zero Club—certainly a most appropriate name for winter use. Jack Bascoe was the president, and also general director of the club, which held weekly meetings regularly in the harness-room of Mr. Bascoe’s barn.

It was Andy who had first proposed this trip, and he had found that idea taken up with avidity. A fire in the town schoolhouse had closed that institution six weeks for repairs, and so the time could be taken without losing any part of the school session.

On the following day the four boys gathered together on the river, which, during the past ten days of severe cold, had frozen completely over, to practice for the coming races, which were to be three in number.

The races were gotten up by a Mr. Grimes, a wealthy and eccentric resident of the town, who personally offered the prizes, which were six in number, a first and second for each race.

As the boys skated around they talked over the matter of leaving home for a time, and also of the expense of such a trip.

“I have reckoned it all out,” said Andy. “We can squeeze through on fifty dollars.”

“That is, if we get blankets and such stuff from home,” said Boxy.

“Certainly. Fifty dollars will only cover the cost of necessary provisions, ammunition and the like. We must furnish our own blankets, clothing, guns, snowshoes, and such things.”

“Well, that is twelve dollars and a half each,” said Harry.

“I can raise that,” meditated Boxy. “I’ve saved eight dollars, and I’ll get father to allow me something on account of my birthday in February next.”

The others laughed at this.

“Drawing on a birthday nearly three months off!” remarked Jack. “Your father will want a discount at that rate.”

“I’ve got the money, and more,” put in Andy. “And I know Jack has it, too.”

“I haven’t but fifty cents,” said Harry, with a light laugh to cover up his real feelings. “So, you see, it’s race or nothing with me.”

“I’ve a good mind to withdraw,” suggested Jack.

“Not for the world, Jack. You must stick, and win it—if you can.”

“But I would rather have you win it,” persisted the president and general manager of the Zero Club.

“No, I won’t have it that way. Promise me you’ll try for the medal, and will do your best to win it.”

Jack demurred, but Harry would not listen, so finally he agreed to do as his friend wished.

The ice on the river was as smooth as glass, and the promises for some great races were very encouraging.

CHAPTER III.
THE RACES.

The following day dawned clear and bright. The races were to come off at ten, half-past ten and eleven o’clock, and long before this time the river in front of the town was alive with skaters.

Harry had some work to do at home, and did not appear until a little before ten. He found his friends anxiously awaiting him.

“Thought you had given it up,” said Boxy. “I know you are fairly aching to let Pete Sully win that five-miler.”

“He won’t win it unless Jack and I drop out,” returned Harry.

“That’s so,” put in Jack Bascoe. “We’ll do our best to leave ’em all behind, eh, Harry?”

The Zero Club gathered at one side of the river, while Pete Sully and his crowd gathered at the other. Milne, also a good skater, glided here and there by himself. He was a good deal of a dude, and on this account had but few friends among the young people of Rudskill.

Sully was bragging about what he was going to do, and talked so loudly that he disgusted many who would otherwise have taken an interest in his endeavors. He was willing to bet all in his pockets—which was not much—that he would easily outdistance those who were pitted against him.

The first race, one of half-a-mile dash, was presently called, and six boys ranged up in line at the starting point. Boxy was in the crowd, he preferring this sort of contest to one where staying powers were required.

The boys started off like a flash at the signal, a loud shouting from the crowd following them.

The short race was over almost before the spectators had ceased to yell. A fellow named Tory had won, with Boxy a close second.

“Good for you, Boxy!” cried Jack. “If I do as well I shall be satisfied.”

“It’s a silver medal for my chest,” replied Boxy, proudly. “And that’s better than a leather one.”

After a short intermission, the second race, two miles, straightaway, was called. Andy was in this, and also Bill Dixon and four others.

“Look out for Dixon,” whispered Jack to his brother. “He may try to trick you as he did the crowd on the toboggan.”

“I’ll be on my guard,” responded Andy.

When the start was made, Andy did not catch his stroke as quickly as did the others, and as a consequence they gained several yards on him.

“Go in, Andy!” cried Harry. “You can do it if you try!”

“He can’t get near Dixon!” sneered Pete Sully. “Look, he’s away behind already!”

“You must do it, Andy!” cried Harry, paying no attention to the bully’s words. “Strike out faster!”

Encouraged by Harry’s words, and also by the calling of his brother and Boxy, Andy did really make an extra effort, and before half a mile was covered passed the last two fellows in the race, thus becoming fourth.

Bill Dixon was in the lead, and for a while it looked as if he would stay there. He kept crawling away from all of the others, and at length had left them pretty much behind.

But now Andy showed of what metal he was made. With a spurt he swept by the two ahead of him, and dashed on close at Bill Dixon’s heels.

“What did I tell you!” cried Harry. “Go in, Andy, and win!”

Dixon heard the cry, and looked over his shoulder. There was yet almost a half mile to skate, and he was nearly winded. He felt that Andy would pass him, try his best to keep up the pace.

He slowed up, and put out one foot, intending thereby to trip Andy up. But the young contestant saw it just in time, and, with a nimble leap, he cleared the obstruction, and went sailing on, winner by ten yards, while Dixon came in third, the boy behind Andy managing to come up before Dixon could regain his lost headway.

Andy would have reported Dixon for his evil intention; but, as he had won the race, he said nothing; still, the look he gave the bully’s toady made that individual sneak out of sight in short order.

And now it was time for the five-mile race, the greatest of the day. It must be confessed that both Harry’s heart and Jack’s beat rapidly as they took their places in line with Sully and Milne.

The race was to be two and a half miles up the river, and the same distance back. A skater with a big white flag marked the turning point.

“Are you all ready boys?” questioned old Mr. Grimes, who conducted the races personally. “Every skate in good order and properly fastened on?”

“Yes, sir,” came first from one and then another.

“Then, go! And good luck go with you!”

They were off, side by side, not a single one a foot ahead or behind. It was undoubtedly the best start of the day.

“Now show ’em what you can do, Sully!”

“Shake ’em up, Milne!”

“Strike out faster, Harry!”

“There goes Jack Bascoe ahead!”

The last cry proved true. Jack had made a splurge, and was now nearly a yard ahead of the other three, who, at the end of the first mile, were still closely bunched.

Then Milne put on steam and went ahead for fully a mile, with Jack behind him, and Harry and Sully side by side in the rear. But the dude of the town could not keep up the pressure, and suddenly, long before the turning point was reached, he collapsed and dropped behind and out of the race entirely.

“Only three now!”

“And Jack Bascoe still in the lead!”

“Sully is crawling up to him!”

It was true. Pete Sully’s long legs were working with wonderful rapidity, and he was slowly forging ahead of Harry, despite the other’s apparent best efforts to keep up.

“Jack’s going to win that race!” cried Andy, with pardonable pride.

“It certainly looks so,” returned Boxy. “Well, he deserves it, although I kind of hoped Harry would get that prize and be able to turn it into money.”

“Jack said he would lend Harry the money if he won the medal,” said Andy. “He said it just before they started.”

“Good for Jack,” returned Boxy. “In that case I certainly don’t begrudge him the token.”

On and on went the skaters, until the turning point was reached, and Jack shot around it in as small a curve as he could make without slipping, and directly on his heels followed Sully.

But the bully and Jack were both becoming winded, and they could not keep up the pace. Harry, on the contrary, had got his second wind, and now he put on a spurt that brought him up yard by yard to the others.

“Harry Webb is gaining on them!”

“Sully is losing ground on Bascoe!”

“Harry is up to Sully!”

“What’s the matter with Jack? Is he out of wind?”

“He must be. See! see! Harry is right on Jack’s heels!”

“Harry has passed them all!” yelled Boxy, in wild delight. “Didn’t I tell you he would do it?”

“They’ve got half a mile to go yet!”

“Never mind, he’s getting farther ahead each minute!”

Boxy was right. Harry was now putting forth every effort. He had just forged ahead of Jack, and it certainly looked as if he would come in a winner.

But Jack was picking up. He was determined to beat Sully, even if he could not gain on his friend.

A couple of rods were passed, and Harry was almost sure of winning, when suddenly a wild, girlish cry rang out across the river.

Harry looked to his left and saw a sight that thrilled him with horror.

Half-way between himself and the shore was a long, narrow spot where the ice was very thin. A girl, scarcely ten years of age, had ventured on this ice, and broken through, and was now struggling madly to save herself from drowning.

Evidently all the other people on the river were so interested in the race that they had not seen the accident nor heard her cries for aid.

“My gracious!” burst from Harry’s lips, and then, forgetting all about the race, and the prize he wished so much to win, he swept from the straight course in a semi-circle toward the hapless victim.

Thinking something had gone wrong, perhaps, with Harry’s skates, Jack kept on, determined to win the medal from Sully, if he possibly could. Sully saw what the real trouble was, but, thoroughly selfish, kept on, hoping to win by accident if not otherwise.

“Help me!” screamed the girl, as she saw Harry approaching. “Help me, Harry Webb!”

“It’s Boxy’s sister, as sure as I live!” cried the boy, in horror. “Keep up, Minnie, and I’ll save you! Catch hold of the ice, and don’t let the current carry you under!”

CHAPTER IV.
A MOMENT OF PERIL.

It was a thrilling moment in Harry Webb’s life when he saw his chum’s sister in her extremely perilous situation.

He well understood how hard it was to keep up one’s courage in that freezing cold water, with the strong current trying its best to drag one under the ice.

“Don’t let go, Minnie!” he shouted, and just then his own voice sounded strange to him. “Hold fast! I’ll be there in another minute!”

With powerful strokes he swept nearer and nearer. The somewhat thin ice bent and cracked beneath his weight, but to this he paid scant heed.

In his pocket, Harry had a couple of skate-straps he had brought along in case anything should happen to his clamp skates. These straps he now buckled together, and wound one end around his hand.

Getting as close to the hole as he dared, he threw out the end of the straps.

“Catch the buckle, Minnie!” he cried. “Can you reach it, or shall I come closer?”

The poor girl in the water tried to speak, but the words would not come, so benumbed and cold was she.

But she put out one hand convulsively, and caught the strap just above the buckle.

“Now put the other hand on the ice, and I’ll pull you up,” went on Harry. “Steady, now, or the ice will——”

Crack! crack! crash!

The ice around the brave boy had suddenly given way, and on the instant he found himself plunged into the chilling water head first.

He went down several feet, and then turned and came up. The shock to his system, all overheated from racing, was terrible, and for a few seconds he seemed fairly paralyzed.

But he retained his hold on the straps, and by their aid was quickly at Minnie Woodruff’s side.

“Oh, Harry!” the girl burst out.

She could not say more, but those two words just then meant a good deal.

“I’ll save you yet, Minnie,” he returned, as he caught her around the waist. “Hold fast to me.”

“I—I can’t! I’m so co—cold!”

“I’ll hold you, then,” he went on. “Help! help! help!”

His cry rang out loud and clear across the frozen river. Fortunately, several had seen him turn from the race course, and watched where he had gone. These persons were now hurrying to the scene of the accident as fast as possible.

“It’s Harry Webb!”

“He’s trying to save Minnie Woodruff from drowning!”

“What a plucky boy to leave the race and go in after her!”

These and numerous other shouts went up. Then, as the little crowd drew closer, they speculated upon how they should aid the struggling pair.

“Somebody get a rope!”

“We want a board worse than anything! You can’t pull them out with a rope.”

In the meantime one boy threw out the end of his long tippet to Harry, who caught one end of it and tied it about Minnie’s wrist.

Then, suddenly, a boy came skating toward the crowd, carrying a long board. It was Boxy Woodruff!

“Here’s a board to get ’em out with!” he cried. “Now if—Minnie!”

He had not previously recognized his sister, and now at the discovery he almost fainted.

“Minnie! and Harry has gone in after her!” he murmured. “Oh, I hope they both get out safe!”

Willing hands had taken the board and shoved out one end toward the big hole in the ice.

“Get back!” shouted a cool-headed man. “Get back, every one, or there’ll be a dozen more in together!”

The warning came none too soon, for already the ice was cracking in a dozen directions. The crowd started back, only the man and Boxy remaining at the outer end of the board, to prevent it slipping around.

Bringing every ounce of his youthful strength into play, Harry caught hold of the end of the board, and slowly pulled himself out of the water, with Minnie half-clinging, half-held to his side. The ice groaned dismally, but did not break, and in a few seconds the two were safe once more.

Boxy caught Minnie in his arms just as the exhausted girl was on the point of fainting. A crowd of admiring boys surrounded Harry.

“Good for you, Harry!”

“That was well done!”

“My! but he’s got nerve, hasn’t he?”

“I—I guess I had better get ho—home!” chattered the hero of the occasion. “I’m almost fro—frozen!”

“Here, take my overcoat!” It was Jack Bascoe who spoke. “You’re a brick, Harry! I never dreamed that you had turned out to save Minnie Woodruff.”

“Who won the ra—race?” questioned Harry, as he slid into the overcoat in short order.

“I did. But you were ahead, and you deserve——”

Jack broke off short, as a sleigh drawn by a pair of coal black horses dashed up on the ice. It was old Mr. Grimes’ turnout.

“Get in here, and put the girl in, too!” cried the old fellow, who sat on the front seat beside the driver. “Be quick! The sooner you both get home the better. You’ll catch your death of cold out here on the river.”

And Minnie Woodruff and Harry were bundled into the back seat by Boxy and the others without delay; the robes were piled over them, and then off they spun for the town.

Luckily, the Woodruff and Webb homesteads were not far distant, and inside of ten minutes both the girl and the boy were in their homes, and being taken care of by their mothers.

Mrs. Webb wished Harry to go bed, but he demurred at this.

“I’m not so frail as all that, mother. I’ll go up to your room, where it’s warm, and take a good rubbing down and change my clothing, and then I’ll be all right. I only hope Minnie gets over it all right.”

Harry departed up the stairs, and after giving him a complete change of raiment, Mrs. Webb hurried next door to assist in making Minnie comfortable, for she knew Mrs. Woodruff was rather sickly, and could not do as readily as most women.

She came back inside of half an hour, and found Harry sitting by the dining-room stove, and with him Jack and Andy Bascoe, who had followed old Grimes’ sleigh on foot.

“I’m feeling just as well as ever, excepting that I’m awfully tired,” said Harry. “How is Minnie?”

“She is abed, but the doctor who was summoned thinks she will recover in a day or two. She was in so long that her whole system was chilled. Mrs. Woodruff is very thankful for what you did.”

“Oh, I didn’t do any more than any other fair-minded fellow would do,” replied Harry, modestly.

“She seems to think so, and so does Boxwell. Mr. Woodruff has not yet come home.”

“He is a genuine hero,” put in Andy. “He ran a great risk, and all the boys say so.”

Jack agreed with him on this point, and a little later, before departing for dinner, spoke of the gold medal he had won.

“That medal ought to go to you, Harry,” he said. “And, by rights, I ought to get the second prize, that Sully got. It isn’t fair to do you out of your winnings in this way.”

“But you won the medal; I didn’t,” said Harry.

“But you would have won it, though.”

“That’s so,” said Andy.

“I don’t care so much for the medal, but you know I was wishing for the money, so I could go with you fellows on that tour——” began Harry.

“Well, if that’s all, I’m going to fix you up on that score,” said Jack, decidedly. “I’ll keep the medal and give you the trip money——”

“No, sir!” cried Harry. “I’m going to get that money myself—by earning it or otherwise, or else I don’t go. That’s settled.”

And all the talking the Bascoe brothers could do would not shake him from this determination.

It was growing toward evening when Boxy’s father, who had been on a trip to New York, came home. He was completely taken aback by the news that awaited him, and very solicitous concerning his only daughter’s welfare.