There came an answer presently to his cheers. "They have heard us, doubtless," he said, peering shipward. Then his eyes lit with a new discovery. "That's the New York Yacht Club pennant. Owner's aboard and I'm darned—I beg pardon—if it isn't Billy Saunderson's signal at the peak. Funny that they answered our hail when no one seems on deck."
"Hark, Calvert, what is that?" asked Trusia apprehensively. He bent his head fearfully toward the forest. Shouts, the crackling of fallen twigs, cheers and commands in Russian, greeted their ears.
"And we thought it was some one on the boat," was his only comment. "You are too late, Mr. Tsar," he called back as he waved his hand as if in farewell. "My countryman is a friend of mine," he said in explanation to the trembling girl. "He will give us a berth, never fear. We will have to swim for it, though."
"But I can't swim a stroke, Calvert. I will only hamper you. You save yourself, sweetheart. They will never take me. I promise you. Do go, dear."
"Nonsense. Will you trust yourself with me? I can handle two like you."
She looked at him with that look that a man need see but once in a woman's eyes and hold life cheap for its purchase.
"Calvert, I would trust you any place after this journey."
In the unlit gray of dawn, the waters were dark and chill. Carter was numbed; he realized for the first time how mercilessly their cruel journey had drawn on his strength. His stroke seemed laborious from the very start, and his clothes hampered him. The girl obediently clung to his shoulders.
About a quarter of the distance to the island in midstream was accomplished. That diminutive patch of soil was a mutually acknowledged boundary between Russia and Austria. A fierce yell of triumph caused the swimmer to pause in his efforts. He looked back over his shoulder to see the first pair of pursuers push their wiry mounts into the river. Then with a groan he realized that the stream was dotted with horsemen.
It seemed almost a hopeless task to strive to reach the boat. That haven of safety was anchored a good two hundred yards below and beyond the isle. Gritting his teeth, however, he redoubled his efforts.