“Good for you, sis!” cried Roy, as Peggy, waving her hand, roared past.  In another minute she had shot past Speedwell, but the leader, the woman flyer, was still some distance ahead, and appeared to steadily maintain the lead she had.

At last Lake Loon came into view.  It was a more or less shallow body of water with a small island in the middle of it.  As they neared it Speedwell and Roy were flying almost abreast, with Speedwell just a shade in the lead.

Suddenly Speedwell made a spurt and shot ahead of the Dragon.  At a distance of half a mile from Roy, who was now last, Speedwell was above the lake.

Peggy and the woman flyer had already turned and were on their way back, with the latter still in the lead.  Roy was watching Speedwell intently.

He saw the man bank his machine to take the curve in order to round the lake.  An appalling climax followed.

“He’s turned too sharp.  He’ll never make it,” exclaimed Roy, holding his breath.

The aeroplane swayed madly.  Then began a fierce fight on Speedwell’s part to settle it on an even keel.  But skillful as he was he could not master the overbalanced machine.

“He is lost!” breathed Roy, every nerve athrill.

And then the next minute: 

“Cracky!  He’s got it.  No, he’s falling again—­ah!”

There was a note of horror in the exclamation.  The aeroplane in front of Roy dived wildly, then fairly somersaulted.  The strain was too great.  A wing parted.

“It’s the end of him!” exclaimed Roy, in a whisper.

Down shot the broken aeroplane with the velocity of lightning.  It just dodged the trees on the little island and then it plunged into the lake, first spilling Speedwell out.  Then down on top of him came the smother of canvas, wood and wires.

“He’ll be suffocated if I don’t go to his rescue,” murmured Roy; “it will put me out of the race, but I must save him.”

There was a clear spot on the island, and toward this the boy dived.  In the meantime men were putting out from shore in a small boat.  But the boy knew that they could not reach the unfortunate Speedwell in time to save his life.

Roy made a clever landing on the island and then lost no time in wading out to the half floating, half submerged wreckage.  In the midst of it lay Speedwell.  Roy dragged him ashore.  The man’s face was purple, his limbs limp and lifeless and he choked gaspingly.  Another minute in the water would have been his last, as Roy realized.

He did what he could for the man, rolling him on his face to get out the water he had swallowed.  By this time the boat from the shore landed on the island.  The two men got out.

“Is he alive?” they asked of Roy.

“Yes, and he’ll get better, too, I guess.  Lucky he fell in the water.  No limbs are broken.”

“Well, you’re a pretty decent sort of fellow to get out of the race to help an injured man,” said one of the men.