"Maybe. But why?"
"Because it's a flat rock, and it stands well up out of the water. If we climb out on it we can take a rest and catch our breath. Then, maybe, we can get across to the shore."
"Go ahead!" said Roger desperately. "I'll follow you."
They had momentarily caught hold of a small projecting rock in the stream, but it was not large enough to afford a foothold. Jimmy now let go of this and struck out for the flat rock of which he had spoken. Roger followed as best he could.
It was no easy matter for the half-exhausted lads to scramble up the sides of the slippery rock. But their desperate situation seemed to give them additional strength, and at last they were out of the water. They sat down, little streams running from their clothes over the slanting rock, whence they dribbled into the river that flowed on either side of the boulder.
"Well, we're alive, anyhow," remarked Jimmy, as his breathing came back to somewhere about normal.
"That's about all we can say," rejoined his chum. "We'll never be able to swim to shore. The current is too swift," and he pressed his hands to his aching head.
"Oh, don't give up so easily!" exclaimed Jimmy. "We'll get to shore all right. What we are going to do when we get there is the only thing that's worrying me."
"Get back to our company as soon as we can," advised Roger. "The others can't be so very far away."
"They may be ten miles, as far as I can tell," went on Sergeant Jimmy. "I don't know a thing that happened after the Bixtons struck us until I woke up in the water. They certainly are scoundrels!" he declared bitterly.