“Yes, and it’s either Sam or his ghost,” added Frank. “Hullo, Beans!” he yelled, at the top of his lungs.
The figure at the fire, which had been watching landward, with club upraised, turned suddenly and peered into the darkness of the lake.
“Who calls?”
“Beans, true enough!” came from Mark.
“Are you safe, Winthrop?” asked the professor, and then the sloop came up, ramming her bow deeply in the mud of the bank. In another moment the crowd was surrounding Sam and the boys were hugging him warmly.
“Yes, I’m safe,” answered Sam, when he felt able to speak. “I—I went to sleep and woke up thinking some wild animal was going to attack me. I’ve had a pretty hard time of it, I can tell you.”
“We’ve all had a hard time,” grumbled Hockley. “We’ve been looking for you for hours.”
“When I went overboard I thought I’d be drowned sure,” went on Sam, and then he related his story from beginning to end. “I can tell you, I want no more Lake Maracaibo squalls.”
“Nor do we,” came from Mark. “It was worse than the one I once experienced on Lake George,—when our yacht, the Firefly, was dashed on the rocks and ruined.”
“Let us all be truly thankful for Winthrop’s escape,” put in the professor. “It was the act of an all-wise and all-powerful Providence that has spared him.”