The Christina was forging along on the back track, the Bradys well forward and clinging to ropes while they watched the manœuvres of the Hawk. It must have been apparent to them that the Hawk would pick up the boys before the Christina could come anywhere near them.
Splash! splash!
Two ropes dropped in the water just as the Hawk, with a graceful, gliding motion, came to an even keel some fifteen or twenty feet above the surface of the lake. The whirling propeller lessened its speed and the air ship hovered over the water.
"Grab the ropes!" shouted a voice from the Hawk's car.
It was a useless suggestion, for the ropes had already been caught.
"Can you climb up?" called one of the men. "It isn't safe to bring the air ship any closer to the water."
Climbing the rope was easy for Ferral. Hand over hand he lifted himself upward, was caught by the man and pulled over the rail and into the car. But Carl was no sailor, and every time he tried to climb the rope he slid back into the water again.
"Hang hard," shouted the man in the car, "and we'll pull you up."
The Christina, by then, was quite close. Carl had hardly been lifted clear of the water before the crack of a revolver rang out.
Brady, Jr., had passed his own revolver to his father, and the latter was pecking away at Carl as he gyrated under the car of the air ship.