“See the foam, Fred!” gasped his cousin. “Come on—let’s make for it!”
It was a struggle that neither of the lads ever forgot. Time and again they reached shallow water only to be sucked back by the receding waves.
“I don’t think—I—can—make it!” gasped Fred. “Oh, the—storm is something—awful!”
Randy was equally exhausted, and almost as hopeless. Yet almost instinctively the two lads continued to struggle, and presently an extra high wave hurled them forward until their feet touched a sandy shore. Then, before the water could recede, they struggled onward desperately, and at last reached a spot where the waves could no longer touch them. Then they sank down, completely exhausted.
In the meanwhile the others on the doomed steam yacht had managed to get down on the raft. They carried their firearms and an ax and a hatchet with them, and now Ira Small ordered that the hawsers which held the raft to the yacht be cut.
“But where are Fred and Randy?” questioned Jack, anxiously.
“They went into the water. They must be somewhere around here,” answered Andy. “Hold up the light so they can see it.”
The raft was now freed from the steam yacht, but the force of the wind still kept the two together. Then the yacht struck again, and the force of the collision tipped the raft up so that those aboard were nearly spilled off into the sea.
“Randy! Fred! Where are you?” yelled Andy. The possibility of his twin brother and his cousin being drowned filled him with agony.
“Look out, there! Something is comin’ down from the deck!” yelled Ira Small, suddenly. “Lay low! Them beasts is gettin’ loose!”