For a moment Lynch seemed to leer triumphantly at Brad, who realized only too well his own desperate plight. The Texan knew the probable result of losing his hold and being carried beneath the swiftly moving launch. In a moment almost the boat would pass over him and the whirling screw would cut and mangle him with its churning blades. It was sure death to let go.
And still he knew his hold would be broken unless he received aid within a very few seconds. He could feel his fingers slipping on the smooth, moist rail of the launch—slipping, slipping, slipping. Above him bent the face of a fellow who hated him with an intensity that was really deadly. Lynch was a vindictive, revengeful fellow, who would stop at nothing in order to injure a person who had aroused his enmity. In those moments of distress and anxiety, Buckhart was struck by the thought that this malicious young ruffian had deliberately brought about the running down of the Sallie. Having seen Dick and Brad in the rowboat, Mike had deliberately cut them down.
But where was Dick? As this question flashed through the Texan’s brain he was seized with a shuddering, sickening sensation of horror. Merriwell had vanished as the launch smashed into the rowboat, which was cut in two like a frail eggshell. If overwhelmed and carried beneath the launch, of course Dick had been struck by the propeller.
That meant death. It meant that the boy’s mangled body might be found drifting at the will of the harbor tides. It meant that he might be left lifeless, gruesome, and ghastly, upon the muddy flats when the tide receded. Perchance he might be carried out into the great Sound, the blue waters of which were traversed by hundreds of sailing vessels, huge white passenger steamers, and the magnificent pleasure yachts of money-squandering millionaires. It was murder, and this creature Lynch had committed the crime!
With a snarl, a showing of his strong teeth, a fire gleam of his eyes, the Texan strained and lifted himself in the effort to swing over the rail and reach the wretch who hovered above him.
Little chance he had of doing that through his own efforts. Apparently Mike understood what Buckhart was trying to do, for in a moment he seized the Texan’s hands and tore them from the slippery rail.
“You cur!” groaned the helpless boy.
But even as he expected to be dropped into the hissing water Mike shouted for assistance, and a second person joined him, bending over the rail and getting a grip on Brad’s coat between the shoulder blades of the Texan.
“Hoist away!” cried Lynch.
An instant later the bewildered boy was dragged over the rail and found himself floundering in the bottom of the launch.