There was a swift scurry on the bank—the opposite bank from the one from whence Red had come. A coat flew off; shoes were tossed aside. Garrity’s heart sank as he realized that it was only a boy smaller than himself, but in spite of everything he could not help admiring the clean, graceful, unhesitating dive with which the fellow took the water. Then suddenly he lost his hold on the rock and the current caught him again.
A moment later a dripping head rose beside him. Red caught at it wildly, but a foot struck him in the stomach and drove him sickeningly back.
“Stop that!” the voice beat on his dazed brain. “Don’t touch me and I’ll get you out.”
The head vanished, but something slid across his neck and he felt a tug at his straggling hair. The impulse was irresistible to try and grab the arm which held him up, and he started to squirm around.
“Cut that out!” ordered the voice sharply. “If you don’t, I’ll let go.”
There was grit in Garrity’s make-up, and fortunately he was not quite too far gone to reason. He had little faith in the boy’s ability to save him, but at least his face was partly out of the water and he could breathe. His teeth dug into his under lip until it bled. Cold fear was tugging at his heart, but he made the effort, and let his muscles lax.
For a space nothing happened save that he did not sink under the water again. Then all at once he saw the bank closer than it had been before. It was lower, too, and shelving. A wild hope sprang up, followed swiftly by wilder panic. For though they still moved, it was more slowly, and gasping sounds of distress came from his rescuer.
Strainingly Red’s eyes watched the bank. Would they ever gain it? It was scarcely two feet above his head and little more than that away. Suddenly he felt a little push. An instant later his clawing fingers caught at a thrusting root, his feet struck bottom, and with a strangled sob he half pulled himself, half crawled onto a slippery shelf of rock.
For a moment or two he lay motionless, drawing in the air in great gulps. He felt chilled to the bone and every muscle ached, but nothing really mattered now. Finally he struggled up and turned his head. A white-faced, panting boy in dripping khaki lay beside him, a strange expression in his great gray eyes. Garrity’s own grew wider, his jaw dropped. Somehow he felt choked and speechless.
“You!” he gasped at length in a strangled voice. “You!”