But the negroes could not pull the water-logged boat. She had struck a snag which ripped a hole in her bottom, and had been rammed by a log at the same time. The bateau was a wreck in a few seconds.
The six members of the crew, including the boss and Curly Smith, leaped overboard as the bateau sank. They had brought the boat so far, after a terrific fight with the current, only to sink her not twenty yards from the front steps of the hotel!
“Throw us a line—or a life-buoy!” yelled Jimson. “This yere river is tearin’ at us like a pack o’ wolves. Ain’t yo’ folks up there got no heart?”
One of the negroes uttered a wild yell and went whirling away down stream, clinging to a timber that floated by. Two others managed to climb into the low branches of a tree.
But Jimson, the fourth negro, and Curly Smith struck out for the hotel. After all, Curly was the best swimmer. Jimson would have been carried past the end of the hotel and down the current, had not the Northern boy caught him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him to the steps.
There he left the panting boss and plunged in again to bring the negro to the surface. This fellow could not swim much, and was badly frightened. The instant he felt Curly grab him, he turned to wind his arms about the boy.
The lights burning on the hotel porch showed all this to the girls. Ruth and Helen, already wet half-way to their knees, had ventured out on the porch again in their excitement. Ruth screamed when she saw the danger Curly was in.
The boy had helped save Mr. Jimson; but the negro and he were being swept right past the hotel porch. They must both sink and be drowned if somebody did not help them—and no man was at hand.
“Take my hand, Helen!” commanded Ruth. “Maybe I can reach them. Scream for help—do!” and she leaned out from the end of the veranda, while her chum clung tightly to her left wrist.
The boy and the negro came near. The water eddied about the porch-end and held them in its grasp for a moment.