Part 3 (1/2)

”No, you don't,” said the Indian, gripping him by the wrist. ”You can't swim twenty yards--you know you can't; and if you get played out, Cop, I tell you right here that I can't stop to help you; I'm going to help Hal.”

”Why can't you try it, Shorty?” roared Cop ”Anything rather than let him go alone!”

But Shorty stood resolute. ”I tell you I can't swim that far and back, and I ain't going to try it only to get drowned,” he snarled; but even as he spoke there flashed past him a lithe, tan-colored body in skintight silken underwear; there followed a splash, and s.h.a.g's clean, dark face rose to the surface as he struck out towards the unfortunates.

The Professor was beside himself with horror. ”Boys, boys!” he cried aloud, ”Hal's going down! Something is wrong; he's sinking!” The words reached s.h.a.g's ears and he seemed to leap ahead like a giant fish.

”Heaven help them!” moaned poor Cop. ”Oh, what an idiot I was never to practise more!”

”It's awful!” began Shorty.

”Don't you open your head!” shouted Cop; ”if I could swim like you nothing would keep me ash.o.r.e.”

”Never mind, boys,” moaned Professor Warwick; ”don't quarrel with this tragedy before us. Look, s.h.a.g's simply leaping ahead. There goes Hal again--that's the second time he's gone under! Oh, my boy!--my poor Hal!” and the little old man rushed wildly up to the servants' quarters for the cook and the pantry-boy and ropes--anything, everything that would hold out a hope of rescue.

And on against wind and current s.h.a.g battled his way; inch by inch, foot by foot, yard by yard he forged forward, until he saw Hal loose his grip and sink, and then rise and fight to reach the canoe again. It was then that s.h.a.g raised his chin and shouted hoa.r.s.ely, ”Keep up, Hal, keep up! I'm coming!” the words that faintly reached Hal's ears before the silence and the dark came. Then as he rose from the depths, an unconscious, helpless hulk, a strong tan-colored arm wound around him like a lifebelt, and a well-nigh breathless boy, with almost superhuman strength, flung him, limp and nearly lifeless, across the canoe. The impact almost hurled Freddy from his slender hold, but for a few seconds the two boys were safe. Above the slippery bow poor s.h.a.g clasped his arms, allowing his body to drift.

With but this frail anchorage, he well knew that the canoe would never float them all. There was but little of her above the water. The waves were beating hard now; any moment weak little Freddy and unconscious Hal might be swept off. Once, as the fear of losing life gripped him, he began to struggle on to the canoe; then he remembered, and slipped back to float, to cling, to slowly--slowly--await the horrors of the unknown.

For five terrible minutes they drifted, minutes that were an eternity to those on sh.o.r.e, and to those fighting for life in mid-stream. Then around the bend of the island came the thin, shrill whistle of a steam launch as it headed directly for the upturned canoe, the skipper signalling to those on the island that he was hot on the way to the rescue.

Old Professor Warwick wept like a woman when he saw it fly past, and the boys gulped back their breath. They dared not even try to cheer; their voices were strangled in their throats.

”Just in time, and that's all, captain,” said the engineer as he brought the launch about. ”Better reach for the chap in the water first.”

”No,” s.h.a.g managed to say, ”take the kiddie; he's slipping off. I'm good for a minute longer.” So they lifted Freddy into the launch, then poor unconscious Hal, and lastly s.h.a.g, exhausted but gritty and game to the last.

Hal had been in his own bed for two hours before he spoke, and the first word he said was ”Freddy?”

”Freddy's here,” trembled Professor Warwick, ”here safe and sound, and you're safe, too.”

”I dreamt I heard s.h.a.g call, call that he was coming to me,” said Hal feebly.

”It was no dream, Hal,” answered the Professor; ”he did call and went to you, saved you, swam out like the prince he is--saved you, Hal, saved you!” Hal started up, his eyes wild with fear.

”Where is he? Where's s.h.a.g?” he demanded.

”Here, Hal,” said the Indian from the opposite side of the room.

Hal stretched out his hand; s.h.a.g walked very shakily across and clasped it within his own.

”If you hadn't been here, s.h.a.g, I could never have looked dad and mother in the face again,” he sighed.

”But I am here,” smiled s.h.a.g, ”and, what is better, you're here and Freddy, too.”

”Yes, but I know the reason that I'm here is that you somehow pulled me out,” said Hal. ”I had an idea once that Shorty might come, he swims so well; but you came, s.h.a.g!” Then he fell asleep; but s.h.a.g did not remove his hand, although the boy slept for hours.

Not long after this college opened for the autumn term, and Professor Warwick and his charges were well settled in residence before the old gentleman was obliged to acknowledge that Hal seemed unable to throw off the shock of the accident, or the chill that seemed to cling to him in spite of all care; but he tucked in bravely at his studies, and only the Professor knew that the boy was not his own self.

But a great event was now absorbing the attention of all the faculty and students. His Excellency Lord Mortimer was to visit the city, and had expressed his wish to spend an hour or two at this famous college for boys, so with much delight at the compliment paid, the entire school began to make preparations. A handsome address was prepared, and a programme of sports--for the Governor dearly loved athletic boys.

In fact gossip at the capital frequently stated that His Lords.h.i.+p would rather witness a good lacrosse match than eat a good dinner. Such a thing as voting as to who should represent the school and read the address was never even thought of. Hal Bennington was the head boy of the whole college, he was the most popular, the best beloved, he had not an enemy in all the scores of boys within its gates, so of course it was a foregone conclusion.