“No, no, my lad; don’t make matters worse! You mustn’t do that. The things have moved out of the river in here to be away from the rush and to get food. We don’t want you pulled under.”
“But we must go on, Naylor,” cried Brazier in agony.
“It ain’t the way to help him, getting ourselves killed, sir,” retorted Shaddy. “Let’s get more in. Water don’t go far.”
He was quite right, for after about ten minutes’ struggle along the edge they found themselves as nearly as they could guess about opposite to the spot where their unfortunate companion had been swept out of the boat, but about a hundred yards inland and separated from the regular bed of the stream by a dense growth of trees, whose boughs interlaced and stopped all vision in every direction, more especially toward the river.
“You see, we must wade,” cried Rob; and he stepped into the water with a plash, but Shaddy’s strong hand gripped him by the shoulder and drew him back.
“I tell you it’s madness, boy. If he’s alive still you couldn’t reach him that way.”
“If he’s alive!” groaned Rob.
“If he’s alive,” said Shaddy, repeating his words. “Steady a moment! He may be up in one of the boughs, for he’s as active as a monkey in rigging and trees.”
Then, putting his hands to his mouth, he shouted in stentorian tones,—
“Ahoy! ahoy!”