The Rover Boys on the Great Lakes | Page 7

him no good. By the red fire and the rockets he saw the position of the Swallow, and saw his brothers, but was too weak to even signal to Sam and Tom.
It was with an effort that he at last drew himself to the top of some of the lumber. This movement came none too soon, for a moment later one of the outside chains of the raft broke, and fully a third of what was left of the lumber was scattered in all directions.
"Hullo, Bragin! is that you?"
The cry came from out of the darkness and from the other end of the top lumber.
"Are you calling to me?" replied Dick, in as loud a voice as he could muster.
"Is that you, Bragin?" repeated the voice.
"I am not Bragin," answered Dick. "Where are you?"
"Here." And the unknown repeated the cry until Dick located and joined him. He was a burly lumberman of forty, with a heavy black beard and an equally heavy voice. He gazed at the youth in astonishment.
"Hullo! Where did you come from?" he demanded.
"From the yacht this lumber raft just struck."
"Did the shock knock ye overboard?"
"It did."
"Humph! I thought ye was Bragin."
"I came pretty close to being drowned, for I came up under the lumber."
"Well, we aint out o' the woods yet, young man. Didn't see nuthin o' Bragin, did ye?"
"I've seen nobody but you."
"Then he must be down to the lake bottom by this time."
"He was on the raft with you?"
"Yes. He and I left the tug to see to the chains when the storm came up."
"Where is the tug?"
"The raft broke away from her at the fust blow. A fool of a greenhorn was a-managin' of the thing, an' this is the result. Come here--it's safer."
Dick was perfectly willing to crawl closer to the burly lumberman, who was a good fellow, as could be seen by a glance.
"We'll be all right, if this section o' the lumber keeps together," went on the lumberman. "There are four chains here, so it ought to hold."
Once safe, for the time being, Dick began to wonder about the fate of the Swallow.
"Did the yacht go down?" he asked anxiously.
"I reckon not, young man. They burned red fire, you know. They wouldn't do that if there was much trouble aboard."
"That is true." Dick was silent for a moment. "I wish I could get back to her."
"Be thankful that ye aint at the bottom o' the lake. If we kin outride this storm we'll be safe enough, for the tug will be lookin' for the raft when it gits light."
Slowly the hours wore away, and in the meanwhile Dick learned that the lumberman's name was Luke Peterson and that he was from the timberlands of Michigan.
"I used to be in the United States service on the lakes, hunting down smugglers between here and Canada," said Peterson. "But that was years ago."
"Do they do much smuggling?" asked Dick.
"More than most folks think," was the decided answer.
The lumberman listened to Dick's tale with interest. Of course the story had to be short, and was frequently interrupted, as high waves would come along and almost sweep them into the lake. Both lay flat, clutching at the lumber and at the huge chains which held it, and which had thus far refused to part, although the strain upon them were tremendous.
It was about two o'clock in the morning when the storm, according to Dick's calculation, reached its height. The waves literally drove over the raft from end to end, and it was all both he and Luke Peterson could do to keep on the timbers.
"Hold on tight, young man, if ye value your life!" roared the lumberman. "An' if the raft parts, stick to the fust timber ye lay hands on."
Peterson had scarcely spoken when the raft went up to the top of a mighty wave and then came down with a dull boom in the hollow below. The shock was terrific, and it was followed by loud reports as the chains they had been depending upon snapped, one after another. Immediately the lumber loosened up and began to drift apart.
"Take care a' yerself!" shouted the lumberman, and hung fast to an extra long and heavy log. Dick heard him, but could not answer for fear of getting his mouth full of water. The youth turned over and over, clutched at one log and missed it, missed a second and a third, and then touched a fourth, and clung with a deathlike grip that nothing could loosen.
It was a soul-trying time, and one which poor Dick never forgot. The storm roared all around him, mingled with the thumping and bumping, grinding and crashing, of the sticks of timber. Once his left leg was caught between two sticks, and for the instant he was afraid the