CHAPTER XVI

BOB TAKES A DIVE OVERBOARD

Bob was alarmed when he saw the horse go overboard, dragging the sulky with the man clinging to it after him.

He saw the horse go down out of sight. The rear end of the sulky remained above water, but the man dropped over the front, and he, too, disappeared.

Bob waited for a moment in breathless suspense. Then he saw the horse come up and begin to struggle wildly.

Where was the man? Second after second passed, and still he failed to appear.

“Perhaps he’s caught in the sulky and can’t rise,” thought Bob. “He’ll be drowned if he stays under much longer.”

Suddenly the youth saw something which filled him with horror.

It was one foot of the man, which stuck up through the left sulky wheel.

“He’s caught sure,” burst out the youth. “Unless I help him he’ll be drowned.”

The horse was still struggling madly, and the water all around was churned into foam.

Bob approached the brink of the creek and watched eagerly to see if the man would show any sign of life.

Presently he saw the foot give a spasmodic movement, and then on the other side of the wheel appeared the man’s head.

“Save me!” were the first words he uttered, as he expelled a lot of water from his mouth.

“Can’t you get clear of the wheel?” cried Bob.

“No; my leg is caught in the reins, which are all twisted up.”

Bob listened to no more. He pulled out his clasp-knife and opened it. Then watching for a favorable opportunity, he dived to the man’s assistance.

Under the surface he went, but quickly came up close to where the man was situated.

“It’s my left leg,” cried the man. “Confound the horse, why can’t he keep still?”

“Because he wants to be saved, too,” replied Bob, and under he went.

Bob was used to the water. Indeed the only recreation he had had while living with old Peter Thompson was to go swimming in the river behind the house, and gunning in the woods.

Consequently the youth felt perfectly at home. With eyes wide open, he quickly took in the situation, and two slashes of the clasp-knife released the tangled-up limb, and the man was free.

Without a word the man made for the bank, and, catching hold of some overhanging bushes, pulled himself up.

“Don’t you want to save your horse?” called out Bob, taking care that the animal should not kick him.

“I do, but I don’t know how.”

“Get the rope tied under my wagon.”

The man ran off, and in less than fifteen seconds returned with a long rope which the young photographer carried for a case of emergency.

“Throw one end down,” went on Bob, and this was promptly done.

Catching the floating end, Bob made a noose in it. Then he swam close to the struggling horse and threw the noose over the animal’s head.

“Now pull him down the stream to that shallow place,” cried Bob. “Hurry up, or he’ll be a goner.”

Pulling on the rope the man started down the stream. It was hard work, and long before he reached the shallow spot Bob was up on the bank beside him.

As soon as the horse struck the shallow part of the creek he ceased to struggle, and they had but little difficulty in leading him to dry ground.

Here, however, he began to tremble, and finally sank down on his side.

“He’s chilled more than anything,” said Bob. “The best we can do will be to rub him. I don’t believe he has swallowed much water.”

“He don’t look so. But he was fearfully heated from running away. I reckon that rubbing will warm us up, too.”

Bob ran back to his wagon and got a blanket and several other articles. When he came back, he found the man had already gone to work, and he set to helping.

Once thoroughly rubbed down and blanketed, the horse appeared to be better.

“Leave him in the strong sunshine for a while, and he’ll be all right,” said Bob. “As soon as he makes a move to stand up make him do so and walk him around.”

“I see you are used to handling horses.”

“A little. What was the trouble, did he run away?”

“Yes, got the bit and that settled it. I am glad we saved him.”

“He looks like a valuable animal.”

“I believe he is. He is not mine. He belongs to a friend, who asked me to take him out and exercise him.”

“Your friend will be surprised when he learns of what has happened.”

“I suppose so. But who are you, if I may ask?”

Bob told him.

“I am Edgar Willett, of Dartinville. I owe you something, Alden, for your generous help.”

“That’s all right.”

“So you are taking pictures for the railroad company?”

“Yes.”

“Intend to stop at Dartinville?”

“Such was the calculation.”

“Then while you remain you must make my home your own. My house is the first beyond the blacksmith shop. I have lots of stable room for your horse and wagon.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, no thanks. You saved the horse, and that is worth a good deal to me.”

While they were waiting for the horse to recover, Bob entered his own turn-out and changed his clothes. He gave Willett a like chance, offering him a suit that almost fitted him, and the man gladly made the transfer.

A couple of hours later they started for Dartinville. Willett led the way to his own house, and Bob tied up in the stable. Mrs. Willett was told of what had happened, and she at once prepared a hot dinner for the two.

Bob was hungry, and he ate heartily. Then Willett started to return the horse and the sulky, and the young photographer went off to take his first picture for the railroad company.

There was a bridge at Dartinville which the railroad company had built over the creek. It was a picturesque place, and Bob had every reason to believe that it would make a fine view.

With his camera in one hand and his tripod and satchel slung over his shoulder, Bob made his way to the spot.

In order to get the proper view the young photographer was compelled to climb through a mass of thick brush and stubble. This was not very agreeable, but Bob bore it philosophically, remembering that all work is not play.

At last Bob reached a spot he thought a good one and without delay he set up his tripod. He had just adjusted his camera and was putting in a plate when a noise close at hand made him pause.

The noise came from the depth of the brush, and for the moment Bob could not make out what it was.

“Maybe somebody is following me,” he thought.

A minute later the sound ceased. Bob listened for it quite a while, but at last turned again to his work. It was no easy matter to get a good picture, as the sun shone almost directly toward him.

“If I am not careful, I’ll have a ghost on the plate,” he said to himself, thereby meaning that the sun would cause the picture to be white spotted.

To make sure of getting a perfect plate Bob took two pictures, one while the sun was out full and the other when that luminary was slightly clouded.

The pictures taken, Bob placed them away so that no light might reach them, and prepared to leave the spot.

“That makes picture number one,” he thought. “And I sincerely hope that it proves a success.”

He resolved to develop both plates as soon as he reached the wagon, and if one was not perfect in every way to return and try again.

Bob had just started to close up his camera when the strange noise he had heard before reached his ears.

This time it came closer, and the young photographer made up his mind it was some animal roaming in the brush.

“Perhaps a stray cow,” he said to himself.

“Here, cush! cush! cush!” he called out.

For reply the crashing through the brush came even closer.

Presently the brush was thrust aside by a pair of horns and the head of a large and angry-looking bull appeared.

“Hello, this is interesting,” thought Bob, springing back.

The bull gave a look around and then fixed his glaring eyes on the young photographer in a most threatening manner.

“Gee haw!” shouted Bob, trying by this means to make the bull leave.

Instead of turning, the bull gave a fierce snort.

“He means mischief,” thought Bob, looking around for something with which to defend himself.

Then the bull lowered his head and with another snort rushed toward Bob.