Ranworth's only reply was a deep snore. Still held in an upright position, he was fast asleep.
"Can you bring her alongside here?" shouted Rogers.
"No bloomin' fear," replied the distant Payne. "I'll not tackle a craft like that. Put your best leg for'ard and get a move on."
"P'r'aps it's as well," said Rogers to his companions. "We'll foot it. Take his other arm, Master Leslie. Master Guy'll relieve you presently. Keep him going."
Supported between Leslie and the seaman, Ranworth was compelled to walk. Stumbling in his sleep, he was urged forward, until the exercise restored his circulation. He began to protest, at first drowsily, then vehemently, and finally with less and less vigour until he, too, regained his senses.
Still supported by his companions, Ranworth found himself unable to stand alone, much less walk. Once or twice he had to be dragged feet foremost across inclined stretches of ice, which Rogers and the two lads had to negotiate on their hands and knees.
Although about a mile and a half directly across the bay, the place from which Payne had hailed them was nearly three miles distant by following the edge of the ice. When within a mile of their destination they were met by the fifth member of the crew of the Bird of Freedom.
"Thank your lucky stars I toddled off, mates," began Payne.
"I'll thank you a jolly sight more if you'll bear a hand here," said Rogers pointedly, for he had stuck gamely to his task, having firmly declined to be relieved by either Leslie or Guy. "Considerin' as you owes me five bob, 'tain't to be wondered at that you toddled off."
"Let bygones be bygones, mate," rejoined Payne, as he took Ranworth's arm. "I'll admit I owes you two half-dollars, but you ain't got no call to remind me in the presence of these young gents."