Bob hardly needed to say all this, for Sandy would not have held back. Together they made their way along the shore. It was not easy travelling, for the bushes grew thickly and interfered with their passage; but Bob led the way, and, accustomed to pushing through the woods, he surmounted all difficulties, Sandy coming close at his heels.
In this fashion they finally came to the head of the island, where the floating trunks of dead trees, some with branches, too, formed a sort of barrier, which the force of the flood had swept up on the point.
"There, look yonder, Bob! I see him!" cried Sandy, the instant they arrived.
There was indeed a clinging figure out amid that mass of floating timber. The unknown seemed to be endeavoring to crawl through the network surrounding him; but his strength had apparently reached its last notch.
Bob never hesitated, but started out over the logs. Now and then he had to exercise considerable care lest he slip, and once more plunge into the roaring flood.
"Stand where you are, Sandy," he called to his brother, who had followed him. "Be ready to help when I give the word. I think I can get hold of him, and slew him around to you. Take care, and keep your footing!"
Evidently Bob knew just how to carry out his hastily-arranged plan, for in a brief time he had gripped the unknown by the arm, and was hauling him out of and over the wreckage that surrounded him.
So by slow degrees they managed between them all to get ashore. Here the man collapsed. He was no doubt overcome by the joyful sense of safety, when he had apparently given himself up for lost.
"We must get him down to our little camp," said Bob, as he looked at the exhausted man.
"Who can he be!" questioned Sandy; for the bearded white face was totally unfamiliar to either of them.