“My, he’s a whopper!” said John, as he struck, and endeavored to stop the first rush of the big fish.
But he scarcely finished his last words, for as he stepped back in his excitement, his foot slipped on the wet bark of one of the logs, and over he went backward into the deep green water underneath!
It happened so quickly that neither Rob nor Jesse for the moment could understand it. They could see their companion clearly in the water, struggling and twisting as he went down, and surrounded on all sides by a mass of white bubbles, which almost obscured him from view.
“Look out, there!” cried Uncle Dick, from shore, who had seen it all perfectly. At the same time he cast off his coat and was tugging at his shoes, making ready to swim out.
But just at that time the head and face of John appeared above the surface, his face distorted with fright and discomfort. He struck out boldly for the raft just at the instant when Rob held out to him the end of the push-pole.
“Catch hold of this, John,” said he, quietly.
An instant later the puffing swimmer was at the raft.
“Look out now,” said Rob; “don’t swamp us. Just lie there till I get you in.”
“It’s cold!” exclaimed John; and, indeed, his teeth were chattering with the cold of the icy mountain water.
“All right, we’ll be in in a minute,” said Rob; and he began poling the raft toward shore as rapidly as he could. They were not out fifty yards, but it seemed an age before the raft reached shore—or, rather, reached the outstretched hands of Uncle Dick, who stood shoulder-deep in the water waiting for them.