“Look, Bob!” he cried. “If you ever saw a lot of scared Sambos, there they are, up there in the Purgatoire!”
Bob stepped to Dick’s side and peered down upon the mirror. Far behind, in the trail of bubbles sent up from the Grampus, the four negroes were swimming like mad toward the shore. Their comrades on the bank were leaning out to help them, and it was evident that they would all be saved.
“We can laugh at the affair now,” said Bob, “yet it was anything but a laughing matter a while ago. Eh, Ysabel?”
“You saved me, Bob Steele,” replied the girl, “and now let us see how badly you are hurt.”
“A bandage will fix that in a little while, Ysabel,” said the other; “just now I’ve got something else to attend to, and the arm can wait.”
Turning back to the periscope, he watched the river bank sliding away behind them, and waited for the moment when they should draw close to the Izaral.
Their work—the work which they had one chance in ten of accomplishing—must be looked after.
CHAPTER XIII.
WAITING FOR SOMETHING.
Ysabel sank down on the top of the locker. Carl had turned on the electric light in the periscope room and was staring at the girl in unconcealed amazement.