Hibbert, a picture of terror, turned and fled towards the river, and Plunger and Harry, imagining for the moment that they had been set upon by real savages, promptly followed his example. The dusky figures followed in pursuit, still yelling their outlandish cries.

"Ka-pei, ka-pei! Houp, houp! O-jib-e-way! Koo-oo, koo-oo!"

Hibbert ran as he had never run before in his life. Terror lent speed to his feet. He had got the start of his companions, so that they only drew up to him as he reached the river.

"Quick—the raft!" shouted Plunger. "They'll be on us in a minute."

It was the raft for which Hibbert was making.

"Ka-pei, ka-pei! Houp, Houp! O-jib-e-way! Koo-oo, koo-oo!"

The cries of the pursuers drew nearer and nearer. Hibbert reached the raft and leapt on it.

"Undo the rope! I'll push off!" panted Plunger.

Harry never thought of the promise Plunger had made—that he should punt the raft back. His only desire was that they should put the river between them and their pursuers as quickly as possible. In less than a moment he had undone the rope which bound the raft to the bank, and leapt to Plunger's side. Brief as the space of time, it had enabled the foremost of their pursuers to reach the bank.

"Push off, Freddy," cried Harry.

Plunger pushed off in desperation. Too late! The foremost of the pursuers had followed them on to the raft. Plunger could see the dusky face looking into his. The raft had floated a little way from the bank. With another unearthly cry three more of the savage-looking figures leapt on.

The raft swayed ominously. Plunger made a wild endeavour to push further out into the stream. The raft lurched forward. There was a cry of horror, a splash, and the next moment three of the boys—Plunger, Hibbert, and one of "the savages"—were struggling in the water.

The impetus given to the raft had taken it out into midstream, and when the three rose to the surface, it was at some distance from them. By the ducking in the water the paint of the "noble savage" was running down his face, and Plunger, in that terrible moment, recognized that it was Baldry.

Plunger knew little of swimming. Fortunately, Baldry knew more of it than he did, and was able to clutch him by the arm and hold him up. But those on the raft saw with horror that they had floated right away from Hibbert, and that was he drowning before their eyes.

Harry looked round for the punting-hole, in the hope that he might go to the aid of the drowning boy. Alas! Plunger had carried the pole with him when he had fallen into the river, and it was now floating down the stream at some distance from them.

"The Camel's drowning!" gasped Harry.

The boys on the raft saw that he was. They had caught sight of the white face as it rose for the second time to the surface. And they stood there, transfixed horrified, at the tragedy that was taking place before them. Unable to find the punting-pole, Harry would have leapt into the river, but Sedgefield, one of the "savages" who had jumped upon the raft, was just in time to clutch him by the arm and hold him back.

"Look, Moncrief! That's Percival, isn't it?"

Harry stood, trembling in every limb, on the edge of the raft, and followed the direction of Sedgefield's finger. Yes, Percival it was. Cut off from the games of his companions, left entirely to himself, he had brought out his rod and line to pass an hour or so angling. While thus occupied, he had heard the shouts and cries raised by the "savages" on the opposite bank.

"What's wrong?" he asked himself, as he stood quite still and listened.

The shouting grew louder; the yells more unearthly, and in a tongue, as it seemed to him, he had never heard before.

Dropping his rod, he raced along the bank, just in time to to see from a distance the raft push off with the boys upon it, and the disaster that followed, as it floated further into the stream. He paused for an instant as he breathlessly watched the scene; then raced forward at full speed, flung off his jacket, waistcoat, and boots, and struck out, hand over hand, to where Hibbert was struggling in the water.

Fortunately, Paul was a powerful swimmer. Even in his cradle his father had taken his little hand in his large one, and, while looking lovingly in his face, had said to the wife who sat beside him:

"The son of a sea-dog, the son of a sea-dog! He must never know the fear of water."

Alas! it was the cruel water which had carried off the father, but the son had grown up true to his wish—he had never known the fear of water. So he had become a bold and powerful swimmer. With a swift, sweeping side-stroke he reached Hibbert's side, just as he was sinking for the last time. Clutching the drowning boy by the hair, he held him up; then, turning on his back, he drew him to his chest, and, kicking out with his feet, soon reached the bank.

Placing the boy gently on the turf, Paul gazed anxiously into his face. The eyes were closed; the lips ghastly blue; the heart seemed still.

"Hibbert, Hibbert!" cried Paul, as he tried to restore animation.

No answer came to his pleading cry. The eyes still remained closed. A big fear took possession of Paul. Had the eyes closed never to open more? Had help come when it was too late? Was the little chap dead? Notwithstanding the fear that seized him, he did not relax his efforts, and presently, to his great joy, the lids fluttered, then opened, and the eyes went up to his face. They were dazed, bewildered. Slowly a look of recognition came into them.

"Per—Percival!" came in a feeble whisper from the lips; then the lids, as though exhausted by the effort they had made, closed again.

Danger was not yet past, but the boy lived, and Paul, breathing more freely, looked round to see what had happened to the others. It had been a near thing with Baldry and Plunger. Baldry had supported Plunger for some time, but neither had been able to reach the raft or the bank; while those on the raft were unable to move to their assistance. The strength of both was, therefore, giving out rapidly.

"Let go of me, Baldry. Take care of yourself!" gasped Plunger.

"Shan't Freddy," answered Baldry feebly. "Sit tight!"

Even in that terrible moment, with death looming grimly before him, Plunger smiled faintly. Baldry's advice seemed so ludicrous. Sit tight! What was he to sit tight on? They grew fainter every moment.

"God, help us!" was the prayer that came from the heart of Baldry.

Human help seemed to have failed them. So, at least, it seemed; but Paul, looking up from Hibbert at this moment, his heart gladdened at hearing his name, saw the dilemma in which they were placed—the peril in which they stood. Unless assistance soon reached them, they must go under.

What was to be done? He could not see them drown before his eyes. Yet—yet, if he were to leave Hibbert, what would happen to him? It was true that he had opened his eyes and spoken, but perhaps that was only the last feeble flicker of the candle. Paul's hand went quickly to the boy's heart. It was still beating, though feebly. Again his eyes went to where Baldry and Plunger were making a desperate fight for life. Three lives were trembling in the balance.

The prayer that had come from Baldry's lips a moment since came from Paul's.

"God, help me! What am I to do?"

He gave another swift glance into Hibbert's face. It seemed to smile at him, as though in answer to his prayer. "Go," it seemed to say. The next instant Paul plunged into the river, swimming towards the two boys, with the same swift stroke which had enabled him to reach Hibbert's side.

As he cut through the water, his right hand struck against something. His fingers closed round it. It was the punting-pole that Plunger had lost, and which had been partly responsible for the accident. God had answered his prayer. He had helped him. It would have been impossible for him to have saved the two fast-drowning boys by his own unaided efforts. Now it was possible.

"Catch hold!" he cried, as he directed one end of the pole to Baldry and Plunger.

They eagerly gripped it; then, grasping the other end, Paul swam to shore. It was a strange freight he was towing—two human lives. And his heart seemed beating like the valve of a steam-tug as he reached the bank and pulled his freight ashore.

"You're a brick—that's what you are, Percival!" were the first words that Plunger gasped, as he struggled, with the water dripping from him, up the bank.

Baldry's eyes had gone to the still figure lying on the grass.

"It's—it's the Camel! What—what's wrong with him?" he asked, as he stood gazing at the still form. "Is—is he dead?"

"I hope not—I think not," said Paul, as he raised the slight figure in his arms. "I must leave you fellows to look after yourselves."

So saying, holding Hibbert close to him, he hastened along the road that led to the school. Once or twice he paused to make sure that Hibbert's heart was beating. Yes; it was still beating, though feebly: having reassured himself, he hurried on again with his burden.

The road seemed longer to him than it had ever been before; but at length he drew near, and his eyes went up to the first thing that a Garside boy usually looked to—the old flag.

He could scarcely believe his eyes. Were they mocking him, or was he under a delusion? The flag did not seem to be flying there.

"My eyes are playing tricks with me," he thought as he hurried breathless into the grounds.

A few steps more and he met Stanley. He stopped and regarded Paul with surprise. He advanced a step, as though with the intention of speaking to him, but quickly changing his mind, went on his way. Paul clenched his teeth hard and staggered on with his burden. Luckily it was only a light one.

Reaching the schoolhouse door, he met Waterman coming from it.

"Percival! What are you fagging with there?" For once Waterman was genuinely roused. "An accident? Why, it's young Hibbert. What's happened?"

"He's had a ducking in the river. Run for Dr. Clack—as quickly as you can."

Waterman needed no second bidding. His natural indolence of manner, under which was hidden much more energy than people gave him credit for, vanished on the instant. He darted off at the top of his speed. Paul did not relinquish his burden till, under the direction of the matron, he had placed it on a bed in the sick dormitory.

"A doctor must be fetched," said the matron, as Hibbert's eyes remained closed, in spite of her efforts to bring him back to consciousness.

"Waterman's gone for Dr. Clack."

"That's right. The poor little fellow's in a bad way. Oh, you boys—you boys!" came in a sigh from the matron's lips. "Always in mischief. Who pushed him into the river?"

"Nobody pushed him. He fell in, so far as I could see."

Paul did not tell her that two more Gargoyles had fallen into the river at the same time, for fear of alarming her still more.

"Why didn't you stop him from playing about on the river? You're old enough to know better," said Mrs. Trounce wrathfully.

Paul stood silent under this rebuke. He had not explained all the circumstances of the accident—so far, at least, as he knew them—for fear of implicating the other boys. He had caught a glimpse of the savage "get-up" of Baldry and his companions, and the black stains on Hibbert's face, which had only been partially washed away by the water. He guessed, therefore, that there was more in the accident than at first met the eye.

"If he dies we shall have the police here a-makin' all sorts of inquiries," continued the angry matron. "And I shouldn't wonder if they took you off to the lock-up, and brought you up before a judge and jury. And serve you right, ses I. You elder boys want a lesson. Instead of stopping the little fellow from playing on the river, you encouraged him, I expect. I know the way you big boys have. You use the paws of the little ones to pull out the roast chestnuts. It's disgraceful, I call it."

Thus the matron poured out the vials of her wrath on Paul's head, while she busied herself at the same time in doing all she could to restore the patient to consciousness. Her words fell unheeded on Paul's ears. He was watching the face of Hibbert, and wondering whether the eyes would ever open again, and look up to him as they had looked up to him on that day when he had put his hand timidly on his shoulder and whispered:

"You look so wretched and miserable I could not help coming to you. You're not angry with me, are you?"