Little by little, still running before the wind, the Captain edged in toward the shore. Luther Davis moved once or twice, but said nothing. His oilskins were frozen stiff and his beard was a lump of ice. Captain Eri began to fear that he might die from cold and exhaustion before the attempt at landing was made. The Captain resolved to wait no longer, but to take the risk of running directly for the beach. He was near enough now to see the leaping spray of the breakers, and their bellow sounded louder than the howl of the wind or the noises of the sea about him. He bent forward and shouted in the ear of the prostrate life-saver. “Luther!” he yelled, “Lute!” Captain Davis' head rolled back, his eyes opened, and, in a dazed way, he looked at the figure swinging back and forth with the oars. “Lute!” shouted Captain Eri, “listen to me! I'm goin' to try to land. D'you hear me?” Davis' thoughts seemed to be gathering slowly. He was, ordinarily, a man of strong physique, courageous, and a fighter every inch of him, but his strength had been beaten out by the waves and chilled by the cold, and the sight of the men with whom he had lived and worked for years drowning one by one, had broken his nerve. He looked at his friend, and then at the waves. “What's the use?” he said feebly. “They're all gone. I might as well go, too.” Captain Eri's eyes snapped. “Lute Davis,” he exclaimed, “I never thought I'd see you playin' crybaby. Brace up! What are you, anyway?” The half-frozen man made a plucky effort. “All right, Eri,” he said. “I'm with you, but I ain't much good.” “Can you stand up?” “I don't know. I'll try.” Little by little he raised himself to his knees. “'Bout as fur's I can go, Eri,” he said, between his teeth. “You look out for yourself. I'll do my durndest.” The dory was caught by the first of the great waves, and, on its crest, went flying toward the beach. Captain Eri steered it with the oars as well as he could. The wave broke, and the half-filled boat paused, was caught up by the succeeding breaker, and thrown forward again. The Captain, still trying to steer with one oar, let go of the other, and seizing his companion by the belt, pulled him to his feet. “Now then,” he shouted, “stand by!” The boat poised on the curling wave, went down like a hammer, struck the sand, and was buried in water. Just as it struck, Captain Eri jumped as far shoreward as he could. Davis sprang with him, but it was really the Captain's strength that carried them clear of the rail. They kept their feet for an instant, but, in that instant, Captain Eri dragged his friend a yard or so up the shelving beach. Then they were knocked flat by the next wave. The Captain dug his toes into the sand and braced himself as the undertow sucked back. Once more he rose and they staggered on again, only to go down when the next rush of water came. Three times this performance was repeated, and, as they rose for the fourth time, the Captain roared, “Now!”