Roy considered.
"Which way do I swim?" he asked. "Where's the landing?"
"That you will discover for yourself. We may tell you no more."
"Don't see that you've told me much of anything," muttered Roy wrathfully. "How do you fellows know that there isn't a big old rock here? Want me to bust my head open?"
"We are in clear water," was the answer. "And"—and now the formal phraseology was abandoned—"if you don't hurry up and get ready we'll plaguey soon heave you in head over heels."
"Oh, go to thunder, you old bully!" growled Roy. "Go ahead and do your counting. I'd rather be in the river than here with you."
"Take him out farther," said the voice angrily. But the order wasn't obeyed. Instead there was a whispered discussion and finally the voice said:
"All right. Now then, all ready, kid! One!... Two!... Three!"
The grasp on Roy's arms was relaxed, he raised them above his head and sprang outward. But just as he was clearing the boat a hand shot forward and grasped his ankle just long enough to spoil his dive. Then he had struck the water flat on his stomach and, with the breath gone from his body, felt it close over his head.