“We must try and save him, Bluff!” he exclaimed, as he watched the approaching boy, who was staggering at times, and seemed to be very much frightened. How the son of the St Paul millionaire chanced to get mixed up in a street riot, was the deepest kind of a mystery; but there was certainly no time for trying to solve it now. “Sure we ought to, Frank!” came the ready response from impulsive Bluff. True, he had every reason possible for disliking Oswald; but the dreadful condition of the other appealed to Bluff, who was even willing to take chances himself, in order to be of assistance to a fellow human being in trouble. “This way, Ossie!” shouted Frank, seeing that the bewildered boy was about to turn aside, and try to escape by flanking the crowd; which must have only resulted in another shower of stones, and further injury to him. Hearing his name spoken, the boy turned in their direction. Hope had apparently once more taken root in his soul. In that minute when in distress, he forgot all the reason he thought he had for hating Frank Langdon, and only looked toward him as a boy from the same college, who was offering him assistance. He staggered a little as he reached them. “Oh! get me away from here, fellows!” he fairly gasped, as he held out his trembling hands toward them. The rioters were hurrying in their direction, some of them shouting all sorts of threats; and stones even began to patter around the spot. In other quarters separate fights were in progress, where little bunches of the strike-breakers had been brought to bay, and were trying to defend themselves. Such confusion and howling the boys believed they had never heard before; nor would they ever care to again. Frank had already made up his mind just what should be done, so that he wasted no time after the desperate boy reached them. Hooking a hand through one of Ossie’s arms he bade Bluff to do the same on the other side. And in this fashion did the three hurry as fast as they could along the open levee. “Where are you going?” asked Bluff, always wanting to know. “To the houseboat!” replied Frank, glancing back over his shoulder, and wondering whether they could make it before some of the rioters caught up with them. Oswald heard what was said, and made no comment. Doubtless in his condition of terror any port in a storm might be his motto. Only a short time before he had thought of the _Pot Luck_ only when plotting how to injure the houseboat of his rival; but now a refuge aboard that same craft was to be considered the finest thing possible. “A little faster, if you can make it, Ossie,” Frank said, presently, when he began to fear that they would yet be overtaken, and perhaps beaten badly by the unthinking, yelling rioters. “Do you think they’ll get us?” gasped the other. “I guess we’ll make it all right; but if you could start up a little spurt it’d be a good thing,” replied Frank, encouragingly.