“Don’t be alarmed,” was Bob’s encouraging response. “The current will take us under it.”
And so it proved. The lariat fell squarely across the middle of the boat, and the two boys threw themselves upon it and held fast to it.
A wild cheer burst from the men on shore, and was echoed by George Edwards, who now looked upon their rescue as a thing beyond a doubt. But Bob did not cheer, for he knew that the worst was yet to come.
The lariat was slipping through his fingers in spite of all he could do to prevent it; so he took a turn with it around the nearest thwart, and looked up to see what Mr. Jacobs was doing.
He and Mr. Evans who held only about four feet of the other end of the lariat in their hands, were running at the top of their speed toward the grove, evidently with the intention of using one of the trees as a snubbing-post.
“On shore, there,” shouted Bob, whose excitement was greater than it had been at any time since his oar broke in his hands. “Make another lariat fast to your end, so that you can give us plenty of slack when the strain comes. If we don’t have a good deal of slack the current will certainly carry us under, unless something breaks.
“All right!” shouted Mr. Jacobs. “Hold fast to your end, and we will bring you ashore safe and sound.”
He turned and said something to one of the herdsmen, who darted off toward the ranch. When Bob saw that he gave up all hope.
“It’s no use, old fellow,” said he despairingly. “If that man must go to the house for another lariat before they can give us any more rope, we might as well make up our minds that we’ve got to go into that canyon. As this is the last chance, I shall have to bid you good-by. I’ll say—”
Just then came the strain which Bob so much dreaded. The line was suddenly whipped up out of the water and drawn as tight as a bow-string, the spray flying from it in a perfect shower.