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 Shag'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 Shag'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 ashore." "Never mind, boys," moaned Professor Warwick; "don't quarrel with this tragedy before us. Look, Shag'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 Shag 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 Shag raised his chin and shouted hoarsely, "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 Shag 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 shore, 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.