"You'd better wait for low tide."
"Too late then."
"Frank, don't be foolish!" cried Joe, in alarm. "You'll never be able to make it."
But Frank was obdurate.
"I can reach him if I'm careful," he said. "Perhaps he isn't dead. He may be only stunned and unconscious. If we leave him there he will be killed."
"But if he's dead already there's no sense in your risking your life."
"But he may not be dead. I'm going to try it, anyway."
Without another word, Frank handed his coat to Chet and then made his way along the rocks at the base of the cliff. For a few yards his progress was uneventful, but as he reached the deep water and the great waves pounded against him he was obliged to exert all his strength to breast the angry surf.
Once he was knocked off his feet and the watchers had a glimpse of his head and outflung arms in a smother of foam, then he disappeared from sight. A moment later, however, they saw him emerge, dripping, beside a rock that jutted out of the water and pull himself up to safety.
He still had a perilous journey before he could reach the limp form at the base of the rocky wall. He rested for a moment, with waves breaking over him as he clung to the rock. Then the watching boys saw him slip down into the water again and flounder on.