"Quick!" yelled Dick, wrenching himself loose from the paralysis that had
seized him. "A raft. We've got to get over there with the guns. We've
got a paddle left and we can push ourselves over. Oh, Bert, Bert!" he
groaned.
But Tom intervened.
"No good," he said hurriedly. "It'll take too long to make it and we'd be
too slow in getting across. The canoe's our only chance. You get the guns
ready."
He kicked off his shoes, tore off his clothes, dived head foremost into
the lake, and with long, powerful strokes headed for the farther shore.
He had an almost amphibious love for the water and the task he had set
for himself was easy. But his fear for Bert and his impatience at the
delay before he could help him made it seem to him as though he were
going at a snail's pace, although in reality he was cleaving the water
like a fish.
Bert, looking out from his perch in the tree, suddenly had his attention
attracted by something on the smooth surface. He thought at first that
it was a water fowl. Then he looked more closely, and his heart gave a
great bound as he recognized that it was one of his comrades, although he
could not tell which one at that distance.
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