Wearied of holding up his head, his arm one agonizing ache from the effort of using it in that strained position, Bomba let himself relax for a moment and lay back gasping for breath.
Lying there, the water was over his ears, filling them with a drumming sound. It climbed still higher, as steady and implacable as fate.
He could not relax like that again without bringing the water over his eyes, over his nose——
Bomba lifted his head frantically, and, summoning his last reserve of strength, hacked at the boughs.
He would not die like that! He would not! Surely strength would be given him to resist that awful fate!
And strength was given him—the temporary strength of a madman.
He knew no fatigue, felt no pain, was conscious of nothing but the sound and touch of that lapping, creeping water.
That spasm of superhuman energy was not without result. It seemed to him that the load on his chest was lightening. Perhaps he could sit up.
One straining, frantic effort—another— He fell back, weak and gasping, into the pool.
The waters closed over him with a greedy, sucking sound and blotted out his face completely.