Bob sent the boat through the mirrorlike water. He headed for the immersed nose of the airplane and as they rounded the cabin, part of it sticking up forlornly, Curt lifted a hand to point.
“Look! There is the parachute, partly inflated, floating on the water.”
“It looks as though the pilot tried to get out of the cabin, and either pulled his ripcord too soon, or else some part of the harness caught and held him—until too late!”
Sobered and worried, wondering just what to do and who had called, they sent their eyes questing here and there—into as much of the cabin as they could see from the window just under the transparent surface of Rocky Lake, but without result.
“I thought he might be caught in the cabin,” said Bob. “But I can’t see any——”
“There he is—see! Out on the lake!” Curt pointed. “He’s swimming.”
Bob pushed away from the fuselage of the sinking craft, and with a sweep brought the bow of their boat around.
“Oh!” he caught sight of a head bobbing in the water, “oh, Curt—I’m so glad!”
Rowing hard, he sent the boat toward the swimmer.
“So am I.” Curt’s voice was relieved. “The pilot escaped.”