“Dave! Dave!” yelled Ben, as he saw our hero disappear into the swiftly-flowing river. “Look out, or you’ll both be drowned!”
“What’s the trouble?” yelled Jerry Blutt, as he turned back for the first time since leaving the island.
“Buster slipped in, and Dave went after him,” answered Ben. “Oh, what shall we do?” he went on, despairingly.
“Here—we’ll throw out the rope!” answered the camp-worker, and took from his shoulder a rope he carried.
In the meantime Dave had come up and was striking out with might and main for his chum. Our hero realized that Buster must be hurt, otherwise he would swim to save himself.
“Must have struck on his head, when he went over,” he thought, and he was right, poor Buster had done just that and now lay half-unconscious as the current swept him further and further from his friends. 240
It was too dark to see much, and Dave had all he could do to keep in sight of the unfortunate one. But presently the stout youth’s body struck against a rock and was held there, and our hero came up and seized the lad by the arm.
“Buster! Buster!” he called out. “What’s wrong? Can’t you swim?”
“Hel—help me!” gasped the fat youth. “I—I got a knock on the head. I’m so—so dizzy I do—don’t know what I—I’m do—doing!”
The current now tore Buster away from the rock, and he and Dave floated along on the bosom of the river for a distance of fifty yards. It was impossible to do much swimming in that madly-rushing element and Dave wisely steered for shore. He continued to support his friend, who seemed unable to do anything for himself.