Then, as they surged ahead, with long, powerful strokes, the voice again came, calling chokingly for help. There could be no mistaking it now. It was Jack Harvey.
“Quick!” he cried, “quick! I can’t hold on long. I’m hurt.”
They quickened their strokes, and in a moment more came in plain sight of Harvey, struggling feebly to keep above water.
“Hold on for a moment, Jack,” said Tom, as they came up to him. “Don’t grab us, now. Let us do the work. You just keep on paddling, what you can, and we’ll save you.”
“I won’t grab you,” gasped Harvey. “Just get on each side of me and let me put my hands on your shoulders for a moment, till I get my strength back. I’ve swallowed a lot of water.”
The two swam up close, and Harvey reached up and rested a hand on each shoulder.
“Swim for the canoe now,” said Tom. “We’ll let him get hold of the end of that and cling on for a few moments till he gets his breath. He’ll be all right, I think.”
Reaching the overturned canoe, they helped him to clasp one end of it, and then supported him there, as they began to push it toward shore by swimming with their feet and with a single hand each.
For a few moments Harvey managed to hold on, but then his strength seemed to fail him and his hands slipped their hold.
“I can’t hold on,” he gasped. “Something’s hurting me.”