"Way 'nough!" order the coxswain.
The boat stopped fifty yards from the broken water. The dog had ceased barking and yelping, and was now wagging a stumpy tail.
"You'll have to swim for it, old fellow," declared Peter. "Come on, good dog."
But the good dog drew the line at plunging into the water. Several times it attempted to do so, but the creamy, broken seas frightened it.
"Poor little beast!" exclaimed Hepburn "it's got the wind up."
"It'll be drowned if it doesn't make a dash for it," declared Warkworth. "The tide's risen a good distance over the flats since we've been here."
"There's water all round the dog now," said Peter, standing up in the stern sheets. "It's on a sort of little island separated from the main sands. Come on, you! Good dog!"
"Nothin' doin'," reported Warkworth. "The little beast hasn't any pluck."
"Perhaps it's been knocked out of him," said Peter quietly. "I'm going to fetch him. Stand by to pick me up, but don't go any nearer."
Stripping off his clothes, the Patrol-leader took a clean header over the stern, and struck out with slow, steady strokes towards the sands. It was a comparatively easy matter to swim through the surf. The difficulty, he knew, would be the return journey.