“You spell me in ten minutes.” Sandy’s jaw was clenched grimly as he moved his powerful arms back and forth.
The engine coughed and died.
“Needs gas!” Cal let go of the pump handle.
“Keep pumping,” Sandy said. “There is no more gas. Whatever pumping is going to be done on this barge—we’re going to do it.”
Cal looked at the water issuing from the outlet. “We’ll never make it.” His voice was thin with fear.
A wave washed over them and drowned out the rest of his words.
When they were free of water again Sandy went back to work. “Save your breath,” he suggested.
Ten minutes later Ken replaced Sandy at the pump and the exhausted redhead got what rest he could by slumping against the cabin wall. Ten minutes after that he took Cal’s place.
Round and round they went, fighting desperately against time, trying to match their puny strength against the ponderous walls of water that rolled down on them and swept over the bulwark.
By eleven o’clock it was plain that they had been losing ground rapidly. The barge was growing more sluggish with each passing wave. Her portside was noticeably down—it was becoming even more difficult to maintain a footing on the slippery, sharply sloping deck.