"Can't you get up, Phil?" asked Dave.
"Hel--help!" was the only answer, delivered in such a low tone that the
boys on the rocks could scarcely hear it.
"He can't aid himself, that is sure," murmured Dave. "Roger, we have got
to get him out of that--before that water pouring over his shoulder
carries him down!"
Both boys looked around anxiously. Phil was all of fifteen feet below
them and there seemed to be no way of reaching the locality short of
jumping, and neither wanted to risk doing that.
"If we only had a rope," said Roger.
"We might double up a fishing line," mused Dave. Then his face
brightened. "I have it--the pole!"
He ran back and speedily brought up Phil's pole, and around it he wound
the line, to strengthen it and hold the joints together. Then he leaned
down.
"Phil, can you take hold?" he questioned.
The youth below raised his hands feebly. But his strength was apparently
gone, and he could do little to save himself.
"Hold the pole, Dave, I'll go down!" cried Roger. "But don't let me
slip!"
While Dave braced himself on the rocks as best he could and gripped the
pole and line, the senator's son went over the rocks and down, hand over
hand. This was easy, and in a minute he stood beside Phil in the water.
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