For a few minutes Jack lay there panting, too much exhausted to exert a muscle or limb. The unconscious form hurtled against him by the swirling waters lay at his side. It was too dark for Jack to see then who it was, or if life remained in the motionless figure. By-and-by, as his strength came back, he got to his feet and dragged the limp form to a cabin. It proved to be the one which the great wave had swept from Jack so unceremoniously. Luckily, although the seas were thundering mountains high about the laboring yacht, none like that first terrific comber assailed her.
Steadying himself on the rocking floor with much difficulty, Jack fumbled for the electric switch. He found it at last and let on a flood of light. The radiance shed itself on a pale face with a deeply slashed forehead that lay at the boy’s feet.
“It’s Billy,” choked the boy. He got on his knees by Raynor’s unconscious form and gently raised his chum’s head. It fell back limply. A blood-chilling thought surged through Jack and he grew as white as the lad he held.
He put his hand hastily over Raynor’s heart and a great wave of relief went through him. His chum’s heart was beating, although feebly. It was not too late to save him. It was a hard task for Jack to stagger across that bounding, reeling floor, carrying the limp and unconscious Raynor, but at last he managed to accomplish it, and deposited the injured young engineer in the bunk that occupied one side of the latter’s cabin. Then he washed and dressed the injury as best he could.
“Now I’ll have to get help,” said the boy to himself. “The captain’s got a medicine chest and bandages, but we have no doctor. I’ll go and find the skipper.”
It was a hard task for Jack to stagger across that bounding, reeling floor, carrying the limp and unconscious Raynor.
Out upon the dripping decks, over which a wave crest would every now and then curl, with a roar like that of a waterfall, Jack once more emerged. Clawing at hand-holds and desperately clinging on now and then when a wave threatened to tear loose his grip, he wormed his way forward. As he reached the bridge deck, he heard a thunderous roar forward, and the Sea Gypsy, as if she had been freed of a burden, made a sudden plunge skyward, with her bow pointing almost straight at the obscured heavens.
“There goes the fore-deck load of coal,” thought Jack, as he made his way to where, in the lee of the pilot house some obscure figures stood huddled. Ten minutes later he and the gaunt form of Captain Sparhawk were bending over Raynor, as he lay white and still, in his bunk. With rough skill the captain dressed the wound.
“It’s a wonder that Mr. Jukes wouldn’t have brought a doctor along,” he muttered. “He’s carrying a rapid-fire gun, so why not sawbones, too?”