Then he saw something move on the surface, right by the tree, and a faint cry rose above the incessant humming.
“Help!”
CHAPTER XXIII—WESTY HAS A STRUGGLE
It was almost inaudible, yet Westy knew the cry to be Rip’s. It sounded exhausted, too, so there was no time to be lost!
Kicking off his heavy shoes, he dove straight in the water, striking it without hardly a ripple. He struck out with an overhand stroke and gained splendidly at the offset when suddenly he felt something pulling at his legs and had all he could do to keep himself up. Each time he attempted to go ahead, just that much he was pulled back again.
Westy was an excellent swimmer and had many experiences with the undertow in the waters of the Atlantic. He knew just how to buck the tide and when not to. But this was different; a new state of affairs entirely, and not much headway could be gained.
Every few feet he would be almost sucked under by this impetuous thing that lay hidden beneath the calm and gleaming surface. It was almost incredible that Nature could be so subtle as to entice the poor, weak human being into such a trap by virtue of its warm, soothing waters.
However, for another short distance it seemed he was granted a respite and had shaken himself free of it, and in his joy he raised his head and called to Rip a few words of comfort.
All he could see of the trapped boy was his head and shoulders and his arms clasping the tree in a tight grasp. Rip didn’t answer him.
“Do you hear, old boy?” Westy called again. “I’m on the way at last!”