NAT TO THE RESCUE.
There followed moments of the most intense and thrilling anxiety. Clouds
of salt water broke thunderously over the plucky little _Nomad_ as she
battled her way on the path of rescue. Her framework quivered and
groaned, and she was flung upward on mountains of water and dashed into
liquid abysses till the boys’ heads began to swim. But still Nat, with
cool, steady eyes, gazing straight ahead through all the wildly flying
smother, held her toward the spot where an occasional high-leaping wave
surged and showed the little craft that they were following. Down below
Ding-dong had returned to his engines and was urging them to their best
efforts.
Bit by bit they overhauled the other motor boat, but it was killing
work. Time and again it seemed that they would have to give it up, but
each time the _Nomad_ drove on, and at last they were close to the other
boat. She was a pitiful sight. From the water-logged way in which she
behaved, it was clear that she was half full of water and utterly unable
to keep up the fight any longer.
Nat crept up to windward of her and then shouted that he would stand by.
The wind hurled away any reply that might have come, but Nat was pretty
sure that the men on the other boat could hear him, which was all that
he wanted.
“We dare come no closer,” he bellowed, “but we’ll chuck you a life-ring
on the end of a rope. Jump overboard and grab it, and we’ll haul you
aboard!”
A wave of the arm from one of the three figures crouched under the
bulwarks of the other boat for protection against the breaking seas
showed him that his message had been heard and understood. On the bridge
rail of the _Nomad_ were three life-rings, with plenty of light, strong
rope attached. Nat ordered all three of these cut loose and flung toward
the other boat.
Joe worked like a beaver getting them loose and chucking them out toward
the storm-battered crew. They were heavy, but the wind helped in
propelling them, and they drifted down in the right direction.
“Now!” yelled Nat, as the first of them came close alongside the
distressed launch. Without hesitation, except to shake his comrades’
hands, one of the men mounted the bulwarks and dropped into the boiling
sea.
He fought for a few seconds and finally succeeded in reaching the
bobbing, dancing life-ring. The way in which he got into it, by pressing
on one edge and then tipping it till it encircled his head, showed that
he was familiar with the trick of getting into a life-ring so as to make
it most efficient.
Joe began hauling in with might and main. Nat, one hand on the wheel,
helped him. Slowly but surely in the teeth of the storm they drew the
rescued man toward them. When he was alongside and in the comparatively
smooth water of the _Nomad’s_ lee, Joe sent the bridge “Jacob’s ladder”
snaking down; and in a few seconds more the man, a stalwart-looking
young fellow in a blue sweater and rough serge trousers, stood dripping
beside them. There was no time to ask questions, for by this time
another of the distressed party had plunged into the sea. Like his
predecessor, he, too, grasped a life-ring, and, with the added strength
of the rescued sailor (for such appeared to be the rank of the first man
saved), the boys made good time getting him on board.
“For heaven’s sake,” he panted, as he was hauled to safety on the
_Nomad’s_ bridge, “lose no time in getting Doc Chalmers off. Nate,” he
added excitedly, turning to the roughly dressed young fellow, “the
gasolene tank is leaking. The whole boat reeks of the stuff.”
“Good land o’ Goshen, and that lantern in the cabin be alight!” cried
the other, an expression of alarm coming over his sunburned,
weather-beaten face.
“Look, he’s on the rail now!” cried Joe, as the third figure, the one of
the man still remaining on the launch, was seen to mount the coamings.
There was a sudden flash of flame and the roar of an explosion. Flames
shot up from the launch and the lead-colored waters grew crimson under
the angry glare.
“The doctor! Nate, do you see the doctor?” asked the other survivor of
the sailor.
“No, sir, Mr. Anderson! Land o’ Beulah, I don’t!” wailed the other.
“There he is! Look! Off there!” cried Joe suddenly.
He pointed to a black speck, the head of a human being, in the midst of
the blood-red waves.
“He’s missed the life-ring!” groaned the man who had been addressed by
the sailor as Mr. Anderson.
“Is he a good swimmer?” demanded Nat anxiously.
“No, he can only handle himself in the water a little,” was the reply.
They all gazed as if fascinated at the struggle on the flame-lit waters
surrounding the blazing launch. The face of the castaway was toward them
now and they could see his agonized features as he struggled amidst the
surges.
“Joe, take the wheel. One of you throw another life-ring after me!” came
suddenly in Nat’s voice. “Bear down after me, Joe, and look lively to
chuck the second ring if I miss the first!”
Before they could lay hands on him or utter one word of remonstrance,
Nat was overboard. On the bridge lay his oilskins, shoes and outer
garments. While they had been gazing, horror-stricken, at the struggle
for life going on apparently beyond the power of human aid, Nat had
acted. But it was a chance so desperate as to seem suicidal.
“Nat! Nat! Come back!” shouted Joe, but it was too late. Nat was already
struggling in the towering seas, fighting his way toward the hapless
man. The next instant Joe flew to the wheel. In the moment that it had
been neglected the _Nomad_ had yawed badly. He signaled Ding-dong to
come ahead slowly, and as well as he was able he kept after Nat, in a
tremble of fear lest by over-eagerness he might run him down.
“Stand by with those life-rings!” he ordered curtly to the two men
already rescued, who did not appear to be so much the worse for their
immersion. The sailor and the man addressed as Anderson each picked up a
life-ring, and, leaning over the starboard rail, eagerly scanned the
water for the moment when they were to fling them out.
“Whatever made Nat take such a mad chance?” groaned Joe to himself as he
steadied the _Nomad_ as best he could. “But it was like him, though,” he
added, with a quick glow of admiration for his young leader. “He’s the
stuff real heroes are made of, is Nat.”
Suddenly the man who had been battling for life in the glare of the
burning launch was seen to throw up his hands, and, with a wild cry of
despair on his lips, which was echoed by his friends on the _Nomad_, he
vanished.
“Good heavens!” cried Joe in an agonized voice. “Has Nat sacrificed his
life in vain?”
He scanned the waters for a glimpse of his chum, but not a sign of the
plucky young leader of the Motor Rangers rewarded him.
Like the man he had set out to save, Nat Trevor, too, was apparently
engulfed by the seething waters.