"Looks like a life-raft from the steamer!" exclaimed Bailey. "She must have broken up. Maybe there's some one on this. Give me a hand. We'll try to haul it ashore when the next high wave sends it up on the beach."
Larry strained his eyes for a sight of the object. He could just discern something white, rising and falling on the tumultuous billows.
"Come on!" cried Bailey, rushing down into the first line of surf, as a big roller lifted the object and flung it onward. "Grab it and pull!"
Larry sprang down the sand. He waded out into the water, surprised to find how strong it was even in the shallow place. He made a grab for the dim white object. His hands grasped a rope. At the same time the fisherman got hold of another rope.
"Pull!" cried Bailey, and Larry bent his back in an effort to snatch the raft from the grip of the sea.
At first the waves shoved the raft toward them, then, as the waters receded, the current sucked it out again. But the fisherman was
strong and Larry was no weakling. They hauled until they had the raft out of reach of the rollers. Then, while there came a wilder burst of the storm, and a dash of spray from the waves, Bailey leaned over the raft.
"There's a man lashed to it!" the fisherman cried. "We must get him to my shack and try to save him! Hurry now!"