Barringford saw the catastrophe and for the instant he stood spellbound. It was as if the light of day had suddenly given way to the darkness of night. Both of his young friends were gone, carried to the bottom by that huge rock which had seemed such a safe point for the turn in the race. The old frontiersman waited a few seconds--to him they seemed an eternity--and then, as neither Henry nor Dave reappeared, he plunged hastily into the river and swam in their direction with all his might and main. He was a good swimmer, and now desperation lent strength to his muscles. He was in midstream when he saw a head bob up, and an instant later he recognized Henry. The youth was panting for breath. "Henry!" he called out. "Henry! Whar is Dave!" "I--I--don't know!" came with a gulp and a gasp. "That rock was--was almost the de--death of me!" "Dave must be under it!" groaned the old frontiersman. "We must help him, or he'll be drowned!" "Yes! yes!" Henry tried to catch his breath. "Oh, Sam, what shall we do?" He tried to look down into the water, but the falling of the rock had dislodged a quantity of dirt also, and what had before been so clear was now muddy, so that little or nothing could be seen excepting the top of the stone, which now lay about six inches below the surface. "Can't you see him at all?" queried Barringford, after a painful pause. "I can't see anything. Oh, this is awful!" "Dive an' take a look!" ordered the old frontiersman, and taking as good a breath as his condition would allow, Henry went down, to catch hold of the sprawling roots with his hands and try his best to locate the body of his cousin. But the muddy water made his eyes smart, and seeing was practically out of the question. More than this, the great rock was slowly sliding outward, to the deeper part of the stream, so he had to watch out for fear of being caught once more. "Didn't see him?" asked Barringford, as he came closer. "No, it's too rily." "I'll go down myself." Barringford was as good as his word, and went down without an effort, his water-soaked clothing aiding him to sink. He caught hold of the rock and the roots and strained his eyes in all directions. Then the rock began to move once more, and he had to get out of the way just as Henry had done. "I'm afraid it's all up with the poor lad," he said, when he could speak. "If he's down there, he's drowned by this time." "Don't let us give up, Sam," pleaded Henry, and started to go down once more, when the rock turned completely over, and a long tree root flew up close to the surface of the stream. "There he is!" shouted Barringford, and swam forward. He was right, the tree root had brought up the body of Dave, and the young pioneer lay before them, his eyes closed and nothing giving any indication that he was still alive. Both swam to it, and in a second more they had it in their arms and were making for the shore with their burden. CHAPTER XXIII DAVE AND THE FAWN