Part 52 (1/2)

”In the sea.”

”Well,” said Whitney as the fisherman joined them, ”I wish I knew what we ought to do with him. We can't stay here.”

This was obvious; for the tide was already flowing past their feet. As they stood a moment, puzzling, they heard a hail and saw the white boat pulling slowly toward them against the stream. She struck the sand and a man in uniform jumped out.

”I see you have got one of them,” he said. ”Do you know him?”

”I never saw him before,” Andrew answered. ”Where's the other?”

”Gone down, I think. We saw him trying to swim, but the tide swept him up the gut, and when we were getting close he disappeared. We pulled round the spot, but saw nothing. No doubt, he'd have on his oilskins and sea-boots.”

”Well, this fellow's hurt. Will you take him?”

”Certainly. And you'd better come with us. You're Mr. Johnstone, I suppose. We were told to look out for you. We launched our gig as soon as we saw your flare.”

Andrew said that he must get back to his boat and barely would have time enough to do so; and after a hurried account of the affair, he set off across the sands with his companions. Though they lost sight of the water presently, they made the best pace they could, and the Annan man, whom Andrew had recognized, related d.i.c.k's attempt to join him.

”It's as weel, Mr. Johnstone stayed behind,” he concluded. ”I'm thinking it was the fellow ye caught who set your dinghy adrift and he'd maybe have a mate hanging roon the _Nance_.”

When they came down to the channel, the tide was rising fast and the _Nance_ had gone. The other boat was floating, but was held by the anchor the fisherman had carried up the bank. There was no answer to their hail and Andrew plunged into the water.

”Mr. Johnstone's nae doot in the den. He wasna' looking weel,” said the fisherman.

Andrew was on board in a few moments, and as he looked into the forecastle while the others pulled the boat ash.o.r.e, it was with relief that he heard d.i.c.k's voice.

”Got back all right, old man?”

”Yes; we owe that to you.”

”I'm glad,” said d.i.c.k. ”You might help me out; I'm not sure I could get through the hatch.”

Andrew noted that his voice was faint and strained, and he felt disturbed when he saw how helpless the boy was when with some trouble they lifted him through the narrow scuttle and put him down on the floorings.

”Don't talk any more,” Andrew said; and turned to the fisherman.

”Scull her off to the yacht as fast as possible!”

They were alongside in a few minutes and soon had d.i.c.k on a locker in the cabin.

”Give me some whisky,” he gasped. ”I think I'm pretty bad.”

”We'll soon run up the Firth and put you in a doctor's hands,” Andrew replied, as he held a gla.s.s to his lips.

d.i.c.k drained it, and then was silent for a minute or two.

”Andrew,” he said finally, ”there's something to talk about. You see, I'm not sure I'll get over this.”

”Rot!” Andrew exclaimed gruffly, trying to hide his alarm. ”You've been as bad before.”