"That 'tarnal Frenchman," muttered Latimer. "The rudder's broken, and we'll drift out of reach before he's back again."
But Bateese knew better.
"Tie loop on rope," he yelled as he hurried back. "Den we catch heem wid pole."
"Here's one for ye," and with tremendous effort Latimer threw out the line again. As it uncoiled the end fell between fragments of ice ten feet from the shore.
"Dere, I tole you. Him no reach de bank, but nevare min', we catch heem all de same." And stretching out to his utmost he hooked the fork of the beech into the open end of the cable and drew it in. Being taut, there was barely enough to reach the shore.
"Give us more rope," shouted Bond. Another yard was paid out.
"Not another inch to spare," cried Latimer.
But the men had got hold of it and were pulling with all their might. Still, the force of the current was a match for them, and it was not until reinforced that they succeeded in drawing the boat in and lashing it to a tree.
Necessity for self-control was now over, and Bateese sprung excitedly on to the Bumble Bee.
"Oh, ma Emmiline. Mon cher ami!" Throwing his arms about his wife: "Mine sweetheart—vive ma reine."