Everybody crowded to the shore and to the deck of the dredge. The pulsating of the big line had ceased. Men shouted to do this, to do that. Others contradicted. All eyes were upon the water. They crowded each other, watching, waiting....
Then a red spot appeared on the surface. It spread and grew lighter in color as it mingled with the water. The watchers held their breath—gasped. The tension was terrible.
Then (as I said, it all happened in a flash) a hand covered with blood reached up and tried to grasp the nearest float. It disappeared, but Tom Slade had seen it and, jumping to the float, he reached down.
"I've got him—keep back—you'll sink the float——"
"Don't let go."
It was not in the nature of Tom Slade to let go.
Presently a ghastly face with red stained hair streaming over it, appeared.
"Let me take him," said Tom.
But the man with bleeding, mangled shoulder would not give up what he held, as in a grip of iron, with his other arm.
And so Tom Slade dragged the wounded creature up onto the float and there he lay in a pool of blood, still clinging to his burden.