Nic made no reply, but, breathing hard, he swam with Pete to an open spot at the side, and had just strength to draw himself out by a hanging branch, and then drop down exhausted, with the water streaming from him.
“No, no; don’t leave me, Pete,” he cried hoarsely.
“Must, my lad, must;” cried the man, preparing to turn and swim away. “You stop there, and I can zee you when I come back.”
“It is impossible to overtake it. We must try and get down through the trees. You can’t do it, I tell you.”
“Must, and will, my lad,” cried Pete. “Never zay die.”
Nic sank back and watched the brave fellow as he swam away more vigorously than ever. At every stroke Pete’s shoulders rose well above the surface, and, to all appearance, he was as fresh as when he started.
But there was the boat gliding down the stream, far enough away now, and beginning to look small between the towering trees rising on either side of the straight reach along which Nic gazed; and the watcher’s agony grew intense.
“He’ll swim till he gives up and sinks,” said Nic to himself; “or else one of those horrid reptiles will drag him down.”
He drew breath a little more hopefully, though, as he saw a bright flash of light glance from where Pete was swimming, for it told that the keen knife was held ready in the strong man’s teeth; and he knew that the arm was vigorous that would deliver thrust after thrust at any enemy which attempted to drag him down.
With the cessation of his exertion, Nic’s breath began to come more easily, and he sat up to watch the head of the swimmer getting rapidly farther away, feeling that he had been a hindrance to the brave fellow, who had been studying his companion’s powers all the time. But how much farther off the boat seemed still!—far enough to make Nic’s heart sink lower and lower, and the loneliness of his situation to grow so terrible that it seemed more than he could bear.