'Come no nearer, boys: I soon must sink. Save yourselves: I'm in a whirlpool.'
It was too true, though almost too awful to be borne. I do not know how Donald felt at that moment, but as for myself I was almost paralyzed with terror.
'Back, back, for your lives!' shouted a voice behind us.
It was our Gaucho capataz. He was coming towards us with powerful strokes, holding in one hand a lasso. Instead of swimming on with us when he saw Dugald in danger, he had gone ashore at once and brought the longest thong.
We white men could have done nothing. We knew of 202 nothing to do. We should have floated there and seen our dear brother go down before our eyes, or swam recklessly, madly on, only to sink with him.
Dugald, weak as he had become, sees the Gaucho will make an attempt to save him, and tries to steady himself to catch the end of the lasso that now flies in his direction.
But to our horror it falls short, and Dugald is borne away again, the circles round which he is swept being now narrower.
The Gaucho is nearer. He is perilously near. He will save him or perish.
Again the lasso leaves his hand. Dugald had thrown up his hands and almost leapt from the water. He is sinking. Oh, good Gaucho! Oh, good capataz, surely Heaven itself directed that aim, for the noose fell over our brother's arms and tightened round the chest!
In a few minutes more we have laid his lifeless body on the green bank.