Gilmore made for him directly, and as he reached his companion’s side the back of Distin’s head came to the surface, and Gilmore seized him by his long black hair.
Their efforts had taken them out of the eddy into the swift stream once more, and they began floating down; Vane so confused and weak from his efforts that he could do nothing but swim feebly, while his companion made some effort to keep Distin’s face above water and direct him toward the side.
An easy enough task at another time, for it only meant a swim of some fifty yards, but with the inert body of Distin, and Vane so utterly helpless that he could barely keep himself afloat, Gilmore had hard work, and, swim his best, he could scarcely gain a yard toward the shore. Very soon he found that he was exhausting himself by his efforts and that it would be far better to go down the stream, and trust to getting ashore far lower down, though, at the same time, a chilly feeling of despair began to dull his energies, and it seemed hopeless to think of getting his comrade ashore alive.
All the same, though, forced as the words sounded, he told Vane hoarsely that it was all right, and that they would soon get to the side.
Vane only answered with a look—a heavy, weary, despairing look—which told how thoroughly he could weigh his friend’s remark, as he held on firmly by Distin and struck out slowly and heavily with the arm at liberty.
There was no doubt about Vane’s determination. If he had loosed his hold of Distin, with two arms free he could have saved himself with comparative ease, but that thought never entered his head, as they floated down the river, right in the middle now, and with the trees apparently gliding by them and the verdure and water-growth gradually growing confused and dim. To Vane all now seemed dreamlike and strange. He was in no trouble—there was no sense of dread, and the despair of a few minutes before was blunted, as with his body lower in the water, which kept rising now above his lips, he slowly struggled on.
All at once Gilmore shouted wildly,—
“Vane—we can’t do it. Let’s swim ashore.”
Vane turned his eyes slowly toward him, as if he hardly comprehended his words.
“What can I do?” panted Gilmore, who, on his side, was gradually growing more rapid and laboured in the strokes he made; but Vane made no sign, and the three floated down stream, each minute more helpless; and it was now rapidly becoming a certainty that, if Gilmore wished to save his life, he must quit his hold of Distin, and strive his best to reach the bank.