thought she was not far off. While he
hesitated, wondering which way to turn, a heavy report came out of the
melting fog.

"Hallo!" Jake shouted. "Where's our punt?"

"On your side," somebody answered. "Saw her five minutes since and
then the water drove me back."

The voice came from their left and after running a short distance they
stopped. A low, indistinct object floated about thirty yards off, and
Jim, dropping Carrie's arm, stood for a moment with his hands clenched.
The wave-lined sand was level, and this meant much, because the bank of
the gutter was steep. The tide had filled the hollow and he could not
see across. He was not disturbed about the depth, but the current
rippled across the sand, carrying along clumps of weed and flakes of
foam that showed how fast it went.

"Give me your knife," he said to Jake, as he pulled off his oilskin.
"I've got to swim. You must stay with Carrie; I swim better."

He slit the waders and tore them off with his canvas shoes; then he ran
along the sand, heading up stream, and when he judged he had gone far
enough plunged in. After he had taken a few steps the water frothed
about his waist, and next moment swept him off his feet. He swam
savagely, swinging his left arm out and steering obliquely against the
current that carried him along. The water was horribly cold and cut
his breathing and cramped his muscles, but if he missed the punt he
might be swept some distance up the channel before he could land. He
must not miss the punt, because he would be too exhausted to try again
and did not think Jake could reach her.

After a minute or two he saw the punt; she was swinging about in the
rush of tide and seemed to forge towards him. A rippling line marked
her painter. He stopped swimming and let himself drift. He must not
be carried past; and presently he made a quick stroke and felt a
triumphant thrill when his numbed fingers clutched the craft's low
side. For all that, he had not conquered yet. He was tired, and it is
hard to get on board a floating punt.

The current swept his legs under the boat, and when he tried to lift
himself she rolled down with his weight and threatened to capsize. But
he must not be beaten. He was fighting for Carrie's life, and
remembering this gave him extra strength. Sliding his hands along the
side of the punt, he let the current take him aft, and then with a
desperate effort lifted the upper of his body above the pointed