“Go on, George, go on!” he urged, breathlessly. The boy struggled onward, but he had already overtaxed his strength. He became dizzy; his arms and legs refused to work.
“What’s the matter?” sputtered his companion, who was now alongside of him.
“Go on; don’t mind me,” said George, in a choking voice.
“Put your hand on my belt,” sternly commanded Watson. The young swimmer obeyed, scarcely knowing what he did. Watson kept on like a giant fish, sometimes in danger of being swept away, and sometimes drawing a few feet nearer to the opposite bank.
The next thing that George knew was when he found himself lying on the river’s edge. Watson was peering at him anxiously.
“That’s right; open your eyes,” he said. “We had a narrow escape, but we’re over the river at last. I just got you over in time, for when we neared shore you let go of me, and I had to pull you in by the hair of your head.”
“How can I ever thank you,” said George, feebly but gratefully.
“By not trying,” answered Watson. “Come, there’s not a second to lose. Don’t you hear our enemies?”
There was no doubt as to the answer to that question. Across the river sounded the baying and the harsh human voices. Almost before George realized what had happened Watson had pulled him a dozen yards away to a spot behind a large boulder.