“You don’t suppose he jumped and lost the rope, do you?” he shouted to Bob.
“Don’t believe so,” was the reply. “He’s probably too scared to answer.”
They worked the dory around to the lee of the sloop, and found that Bob’s theory was the correct one. Will lay in the cockpit, very scared and very, very seasick. He opened his eyes when they called to him, but evidently he was incapable of making any further effort. The stranger dropped his oars, waited his chance, and then leaped to the slippery deck. Bob held the dory as near as he could. The stranger picked up the boy and shoved the limp body over the side.
“Bring her up till she bumps,” he said.
Bob obeyed, and Will slid into the dory to lie supinely against the seat with the water washing about his legs. The owner of the dory tumbled in after him, saved himself from going out the other side, and seized his oars.
“All right!” he cried. “Push her off! We’ll go back the way we came. I’m afraid we might get carried by the point if we tried it here.”
By the time they were in the breakers again Dan had joined Tom and Nelson, and all three waded out, and dragged the boat up. Will was lifted out and borne up the beach.
“We’ll have to carry him, I guess,” said Dan.
“Put him right back in the dory when we get it on the road,” said the stranger. “It’ll be rough, but he’s had it rougher already and won’t mind, I guess.”
So, presently, with Will lying at full length in the bottom of the dory, and the others trudging beside, the procession started inland. Fifteen minutes of battle against the elements brought them to a neat and cosy little red cottage standing in a grove of cedars a short distance from the beach. Lights gleamed from the windows, and Tom and Nelson cheered feebly.