A BRAVE FIGHT
"Bring her to!" cried Madge imperiously, starting toward the stranger,
who now stood by the tiller.
"I can't bring her to, I'm no sailor," answered the young ruffian
coolly. "I didn't push your friend overboard; he fell. You had better
sail the boat yourself instead of standing there giving me orders."
Madge regarded the stranger with horrified eyes. "You did push him
overboard," she accused. "I saw you do it. If he drowns, you will be
held responsible."
"I didn't, I tell you. Better be careful what you say. It wouldn't
take much to send you after him," was the stranger's menacing retort.
With a look of withering scorn Madge coolly turned her back on the
intruder. She would not take the trouble to bandy words with him. She
was too angry to experience the slightest fear of this scowling,
ill-favored youth. Her superb indifference to his threat made a
visible impression upon him. With a muttered word he slouched to the
bow of the boat, where he crouched, glaring at her with the eyes of an
angry animal brought to bay.
Although not more than a minute had passed since Tom disappeared over
the side of the boat it seemed hours to the frightened girl. She must
act quickly or Tom would be lost.
During their sail she had watched Tom Curtis manoeuvre the boat and had
paid particular attention to his manner of "bringing it to." It had
appeared to be a comparatively simple process and she laughingly
remarked that she believed she could do it herself. Now the
opportunity had come to prove her words. Grasping the tiller, she
brought the boat directly into the eye of the wind. A moment later the
sails flapped in the breeze, and the boat floated idly in the heavy
rolling sea.
The stranger had not in reality given Tom the final shove that sent him
overboard. At the edge of the boat he had suddenly relaxed his hold,
and Tom, faint from the pain of his injured shoulder had toppled
backward. The shock of striking the water revived him somewhat, and as
he felt himself slipping down he made a brave effort to swim, then,
finding it useless, managed to turn on his back and float.
Still keeping her hand on the tiller, Madge strained her eyes to watch
his every movement. "Try to make it, Tom," she shouted encouragingly.
"You've only a little farther to swim. Come on; I'll help you into the
boat."
"I'm afraid I can't, Madge," he called faintly. "I've hurt my
shoulder. I can't swim."
The girl at the tiller bent forward to catch the sound of her friend's
voice. Then she answered with the bravery of despair: "You must keep
on floating. You are not going to drown. I am coming after you."
At the same instant Madge divested herself of her coat, shoes and the
skirt of her suit and poised herself for a dive into the angry water.
"Keep the head of the boat to the wind," was her curt command to the
stranger, "I am going after Mr. Curtis."
"You're crazy!" shouted the stranger, leaping to his feet. "You can
never save the man in such a sea as this. You'll both be drowned!"
His tardy expostulation fell upon unheeding ears. Madge was in the
water and swimming toward Tom. Expert swimmer that she was, she knew
that she was risking her own life. The tide was against her, and even
though she did reach Tom before he sank again, it would be hard work to
support him and swim back to the boat in such a heavy sea.
The sky was now dark, the waves had grown larger, and a pelting rain
had begun to beat down in Madge's face. Tom had risen to the surface
of the water again, and was feebly trying to swim toward her. He had
shuddered with despair when he first caught sight of her in the water.
But his faint, "Go back! Go back!" had not reached her ears. Nor
would she have heeded him had she heard.
His intrepid little rescuer was swimming easily along, with firm, even
strokes. Little water-sprite that she was, she would have enjoyed the
breakers dashing over her head and the tingle of the fine salt spray in
her face if she had not realized the danger that lay ahead.
"Keep floating until I can get to you!" she called out to Tom. She did
not speak again, for she did not mean to waste her breath.
Tom was making an heroic effort to keep himself afloat. But he was
growing weaker and weaker, and the last vestige of his strength was
giving way. As Madge reached him, he managed to reach out and clutch
her arm, hanging to it with a force that threatened to pull them both
under. He was making that instinctive struggle for life usually put
forth by the drowning. Madge experienced a brief flash of terror.
"Don't struggle, Tom," she implored.
Even in his semi-conscious state Tom must have heard his companion's
words. He ceased to fight, his body grew limp, and, clasping one of
his hands in her own strong, brown fingers, Madge swam toward the spot
where she had left the sailboat. Never once did she relax her hold on
the burden at her side. Now and then she glanced up at their boat.
Each time she caught a glimpse of it it seemed to be farther away.
Could it be possible that the wind and the tide were carrying the
sailboat ashore faster than she could swim? Surely the youth on board
would come forward to help them. Now the waves that dashed over
Madge's head and lashed across her face sent echoing waves of despair
over her plucky soul. Tom was too far gone to know or to care what was
happening. The responsibility, the fight, was hers.
"I must save him," she thought over and over again. "It does not so
much matter about me; I haven't any mother. But Tom----"
Her bodily strength was fast giving out, but her spirit remained
indomitable. It was that spirit that was keeping them afloat in the
midst of an angry sea.
But as for gaining on the sailboat, she was right. No matter how great
her effort, she was not coming any nearer to it. The last time she
looked up from the waves she could catch only a glimpse of the boat far
ahead.
It seemed incredible. It was too awful to believe. The stranger she
had left on board the sailboat was not coming to their aid. He was
deliberately taking their boat to shore, leaving them to the mercy of
the sea.
Even with this realization Madge did not give up the battle. The arm
that held Tom Curtis felt like a log, it was so stiff and cold. She
could swim no longer, but she could still float. There were other
craft that were putting in toward the shore. If she could only keep up
for a few moments, surely some one would save them!
But at last her splendid courage waned. She was sinking. The rescuer
would come too late! She thought of the circle of cheerful faces she
had left two hours before. Then--a cold, wet muzzle touched her face,
a pair of strong teeth seized hold of her blouse. Tom's setter dog,
Brownie, had managed to swim to his master. The animal's gallant
effort to save Tom inspired Madge to fresh effort, and once more she
took up the battle for her life and that of her friend.