Griffith maneuvered his own boat close to the one which drifted with the current. Mr. Parker was able to reach out and grasp the long rope dangling in the water.
“The flashlight, Penny!” he commanded.
She turned the beam on, and as it focused upon the floor of the boat, drew in her breath sharply. On the bottom, face downward, lay a man.
“It’s Jerry!” Penny cried. “Oh, Dad, he’s—”
“Steady,” said her father. “Steady.”
While Griffith held the two boats together, he stepped aboard the smaller one. He bent over the crumpled figure, feeling Jerry’s pulse, gently turning him upon his back.
“Is he alive, Dad?”
“His pulse is weak, but I can feel it. Yes, he’s breathing! Hold that light steady, Penny.”
“Dad, there’s blood on his head! I—I can see it trickling down.”
“He’s been struck with a club or some blunt object,” Mr. Parker said grimly. “He may have a fractured skull.”