“Help! Help!” screamed Louise, waving an arm.
“Halt or I’ll fire!” rang out the terse command from the bridge.
“Halt?” cried Penny, too exasperated to consider the significance of the order. “That’s what we’d like to do, but we can’t!”
The searchlight came to rest on the overturned sailboat. The girls were so blinded that for a moment they could see nothing. Then the searchlight shifted slightly to the left, and they were able to distinguish a short, stoop-shouldered man who peered over the railing of the bridge. Apparently satisfied that their plight was genuine, he called reassuringly:
“Okay, take it easy. I’ll heave you a line.”
The watchman disappeared into the little bridge house. Soon he reappeared, and with excellent aim, tossed a weighted rope so that it fell squarely across the overturned boat. Penny seized an end and made it fast.
“I’ll try to pull you in,” the watchman shouted. “Just hang on.”
Leaving his post on the bridge, the old fellow climbed down a steep incline to the muddy shore. By means of the long rope, he slowly and laboriously pulled the water-logged boat with the clinging girls toward a quiet cove.
Once within wading depth, the chums aided the watchman by leading the craft in. Together the three of them beached “Pop’s Worry” on a narrow strip of sand.
“Thanks,” Penny gasped, flipping a wet curl from off her freckled nose. “On second thought, many, many thanks.”