Finally Merry arrived at a part of the forest where the trees had been caught and twisted and scattered in such a tangle that passage seemed impossible. There he found a long tree trunk that extended upward slopingly over the tangled mass; and, balancing himself, he used it as a bridge, mounting along it until he was at least twenty feet above the ground, with a dark jungle below, from which, should he fall, it might be almost impossible to force an egress. Up there he found yet another dead tree upon which he ventured. Suddenly he halted. From beneath his very feet came a call for help! Frank was astonished. He looked downward, clutching an upthrust limb to steady himself, but could see no one. “Oh, Merriwell!” came the call. “Hello!” he answered. “Who’s down there?” “It is I—Bramwell.” “Bramwell? What are you doing down there?” “I’m stuck and I can’t get out. I’ve climbed part of the way out, but I can get no higher. Go on and finish the run, but come back for me afterward, for I think I’ll have to stay here.” And now, peering into the gloom, Merry caught a glimpse of the gray face of Bramwell upturned some distance below. Evidently the fellow had fallen from the tree trunk in trying to cross. “I’ll get you out now,” said Frank. “Don’t you do it—don’t stop for it!” exclaimed the fellow below. “If you do Huntley will win the race.” “If I don’t he may win just the same. I’ve sprained my ankle. You’re the man to beat him in case I give out entirely.” Frank was acting even as he spoke. At a distance he saw a long, dead limb that had been almost twisted off at the base. It did not take him long to reach the limb, break it wholly clear, return with it and thrust one end down until Bramwell could grasp it. There were other branches and limbs and tangled masses by which the fellow could assist himself, and slowly, little by little, Merry drew him up. Although it was not done swiftly, little time was wasted, and soon Frank was able to give the other a hand and assist him to the tree trunk. Together they passed over the jungle and reached that part of the path beyond. “Oh, if we can beat Huntley after this!” exclaimed Bramwell. “I did not fall down there, Merriwell. He met me on that tree trunk and struck me off with a heavy stick. I did not see him until I was right upon him, so busy was I watching where I placed my feet. Evidently he had discovered I was following him closely and knew of the path.” “He is in the same class with Hollingsworth,” said Frank. “They make a fine pair! I’ve sprained my ankle, Bramwell.” “Did it when you fell?” “Yes.” “But it isn’t badly injured?” “Bad enough. I’m afraid it will put me out of the running before I can cover the distance. You take the lead and do your prettiest. If you can beat Huntley, by all means beat him.” “I will!” fiercely cried Bramwell. “He shall never have that trophy if I can help it! But he has a start.”