“We thought we did,” Bob called back, and, as they came closer the man spoke less loudly.
“I don’t see anybody.”
“Then you aren’t the pilot?”
“He can’t be!” Curt commented when the man failed to reply, being busy clearing water from his eyes to look around the lake again.
“Haven’t seen anybody at all,” the man spoke as he caught the gunwale and pulled himself up and into the boat with Curt’s aid. “Heard a shout, though. Row back boys, to that thing.”
They went back over the course. The stranger, studying the aircraft, seemed very much disturbed and worried. He had a hand ready to catch the struts of a wing as they swung under the tilted airfoil: while Bob stowed the needless oar on that side he drew the boat forward.
“We didn’t see anything in the cabin. We looked, before,” Bob explained.
“Untie that painter,” the stranger ordered. “I’m going down under the nose, and the mud might hold me—so, if I signal, you pull.” As Curt unknotted the tying rope and threw it to him, the man looped an end under his arms, knotting it swiftly, flung the short coil to Bob and lowered himself, disappearing into the water, his descent stirred up mud, moiling the water. Down he went, hidden almost at once in the murky disturbance.
Paying out the rope until it grew slack, Bob took a turn around a rowlock, and they waited breathlessly. Some bubbles floated up and broke. Then came a tug on the rope.
Curt, who had already come to the midships section, helped Bob tug and haul in the wet manilla strands. The stranger came up through the murky water, emerged, shook himself free of the liquid, caught the boat and shook his head.