Then all was still again.
They sprang to their feet, startled, almost frightened for a brief moment at the strange cry, coming from they knew not where.
Again the cry came, this time more distinctly, from somewhere out on the water. They heard the words, “Help! Help!” uttered in a choking voice, as of a man drowning.
The boys rushed down to the water’s edge and peered out over the bay, straining their eyes to see whence the sound came.
“Hulloa! Hulloa! Where are you? What’s the matter? Call again!” cried Tom.
They listened, and in a moment the voice came again weirdly over the water, though they could not distinguish this time the words.
“Why, there it is,” cried Bob, all at once, pointing as he spoke. “Don’t you see it, Tom? I declare, but it’s queer we didn’t see it before. Look, there’s something floating only about an eighth of a mile out,—and there’s something moving a little distance from it. Why, Tom, I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a canoe—it’s Jack Harvey—and he’s upset—he’s drowning. Just look, where I am pointing.”
“Yes, I see,” exclaimed Tom, excitedly. “I just saw a splash. He’s upset, sure enough, and struggling. I say, Bob, we’ve got to swim out. Our canoe is too far. Keep up! We’re coming!” he called, and began hurriedly to strip off his clothing.
In a moment the two boys were in the water, striking out wildly toward the object that seemed to be a canoe floating in the water.
“Hold on there, Bob,” cried Tom, presently. “We mustn’t try to be too fast. We’ll only waste our strength. We’ll need it all when we get there. Let’s calm down, now, and not get excited. We’ve got to keep our heads.”