The dog, perceiving the approach of the swimmer, barked joyously, and as Peter touched bottom and waded through the shallow water the animal plucked up courage to meet him.
"Why, it's only a big pup!" exclaimed the lad. "No wonder he funked it. Now, come along, old boy."
The dog had no collar, so Peter gripped him by the scruff of the neck and waded deeper and deeper on the return journey.
The dinghy looked quite a long way off, and the broken water far more formidable than when viewed from seaward. The lad was conscious, too, of a very considerable set of tide that tended to carry him in a south-westerly direction.
Still holding the dog by the scruff, Peter took to swimming. It was a tough struggle. Baffled by the breakers, and hampered by being able to use one hand only for propulsion purposes, Stratton had quite enough by the time he had successfully fought his way through the broken water.
"Now, swim for it by yourself, pup," he exclaimed breathlessly. "Follow me and you'll be all right."
He released his hold and took to an easy breast stroke. For a few seconds the dog swam independently; then, possibly afraid that he was being deserted by his rescuer, the pup begun clawing Peter's bare back, and attempted to clamber upon his shoulders.
Turning, Peter placed one hand over the animal's muzzle and pushed him away. The dog promptly swam round, and began swimming back towards the sandbank.
"Come here," gurgled Stratton, who had just swallowed a mouthful of salt water.
The dog obeyed. The Patrol-leader gripped him by the neck and again struck out towards the boat. He no longer attempted to hold up the pup's head. The animal was now swimming powerfully, and Peter derived a certain amount of support from the sturdy four-legged swimmer.