The struggling animal was not making much headway against the swift stream and Jinks instantly saw that he would tire himself out and be useless, so he signaled to Bill, and the two ran through the bushes growing on the shore and reached a place opposite the boat. Then Jinks called again to the dog.
“Here, Crummie! Crummie, come in here!”
At the strange voice, the dog stopped battling against the current but did not turn. However, Bill saw through Jinks’ idea and quickly abetted him.
“Here, good old Crummie! Fetch it home! Fetch it home!”
And at his master’s well-known call, the dog turned and swam for shore where the two boys were waiting to help. Jinks pulled off his shoes and stockings, rolled up his trousers and waded in as far as he could. When Crummie came within arm’s reach, Jinks leaned out to catch hold of the rope, but the dog growled fiercely.
“Ha, ha, ha! Crummie won’t let you interfere! He don’t know what you’re after—mebbe you want to take away the prize he’s bringin’ in to me!” laughed Bill, delightedly, now that the strain was over.
Even Jinks laughed at the treatment he had been given by the dog, but Crummie dragged the rope straight up to his master and left it in his hands. Then it was seen that the rope that had been tied to the old collar had torn it away and was out in the lake.
“When did the swing rope break?” asked Don, who failed to understand.
“Soon after the strain came on it, most likely,” said Mete.
“I’ll tell you what I think!” ventured Uncle Ben, who had hurried up with Maggie, and now stood patting Crummie’s wet, matted head.