“What’s the matter?” asked Frank, who came up with his rifle in his hand.
“Shure, sor, there’s a poor divil out there on a raft as wants help!” cried Barney.
“On a raft?”
“Yis, sor.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed Professor Gaston. “Let us hasten to his relief!”
Frank Reade, Jr., was only half dressed, but he did not wait to complete his toilet. He went over the rail like a flash and with Barney rushed down to the river.
The Celt had brought a long rope with him. The raft had drifted nearer the shore.
Frank had a smattering of Russian among his varied accomplishments, and he shouted to the fellow:
“Who are you, and how came you here?”
“I am Nicolas Nafetodi, good sir,” was the reply. “Oh, give me food, but for the love of God do not take me back to that fearful prison!”