“I am sure I don’t know,” said George, in a low tone. “Who are you, fellow?”
“I am Bob Owens. But don’t tell him that!” added Bob, quickly. He knew that if George pronounced his name in a tone of voice so loud that the captain could hear and understand it, it would also be heard and understood by the men about the fire, who would recognise it on the instant. “Just tell him that I am a passenger.”
“Is he swimmer enough to take you to the shore?” asked the captain, when he had received George’s reply. “We can’t send our yawl after you for she would sink before reaching you, she is so leaky!”
“I can take care of him,” shouted Bob.
This answer seemed to satisfy the captain, for he turned and walked toward the pilot-house, while the rest of the group remained to watch the boys.
“That yawl is like everything else about the old Sam Kendall—nearly played out,” said George. “She has four boats, and I don’t believe that any of them would float until they could be pulled across the river. You are not going to let go?” he added, as he felt Bob loosen his grasp on his collar.
“O, no. I didn’t jump into the water to let you go after I caught you. I want to get you in such a position that I can tow you ashore. Put your hand on my shoulder and keep it there. That’s the way. Now fall back alongside of me so that—don’t, be afraid,” he added, as George seized his collar and held on with all his strength. “Let go!”
The boy pilot was either blessed with more than an ordinary share of courage, or else he had unbounded confidence in Bob, for he did just as the latter told him, and without any words or hesitation. He let go his hold, but he didn’t sink, Bob’s hand being promptly thrust out to support him.
“You mustn’t clinch me that way,” said Bob, earnestly; “for if you do, you’ll drown us both. Don’t do it again.”
“I won’t,” answered George. “I was afraid I was going under.”