“Here, both of you—Distin—where’s Distin?”
He ran along the bank as he spoke, gazing down into the river, but without seeing a sign of that which he sought.
Macey’s heart sank within him, as, for the first time, the real significance of that which he had done in carefully guiding the rower on to the old rotten pile came home. A cold chill ran through him, and, for the moment, he clung, speechless and helpless, to the drifting boat.
But Vane soon changed all that.
“Here, you!” he yelled, “get that boat ashore, turn her over, and come to me—”
As he spoke, he ran to and fro upon the bank for a few moments, but, seeing nothing, he paused opposite a deep-looking place, and plunged in, to begin swimming about, raising his head at every stroke, and searching about him, but searching in vain, for their companion, who, as far as he knew, had not risen again to the surface.
Meanwhile, Gilmore and Macey tried their best to get the boat ashore, and, after struggling for a few minutes in the shallow close under the bank, they managed to right her, but not without leaving a good deal of water in the bottom. Still she floated as they climbed in and thrust her off, but only for Gilmore to utter a groan of dismay as he grasped the helplessness of their situation.
“No oars—no oars!” he cried; and, standing up in the stern, he plunged into the water again, to swim toward where he could see Vane’s head.
“What have I done—what have I done!” muttered Macey, wildly. “Oh, poor chap, if he should be drowned!”
For a moment he hesitated about following Gilmore, but, as he swept the water with his eyes, he caught sight of something floating, and, sitting down, he used one hand as a paddle, trying to get the boat toward the middle of the river to intercept the floating object, which he had seen to be one of the oars.