You're sure to be hauled to safety if you
help yourself. Now, then, Dave! Begin to haul in!"
It needed another pinch to make Fred Ripley bestir himself properly.
He half whimpered in protest, but Prescott was past minding _that_.
Hardly had Ripley gotten his full weight upon the ice than it
broke under him. He splashed into the water with a great howl,
but alert Dave Darrin hauled in just enough of the rope. Ripley
was safe, and could make the next attempt to get out on the ice.
Meanwhile, Prescott swam to another part of the ice edge. He
rested his hands on that edge, not heavily, but just enough for
some support. At the same time he kept his tired, aching, almost
frozen legs in motion just to keep himself from growing any more
numb.
Four times Fred Ripley broke through the thin ice, but each time
Dave Darrin, astride the first raft, pulled in on the rope just
in time.
After getting himself out of the water for the fifth time, Ripley
crawled over stronger ice, and went on past the hole in which
Dave sat on the raft.
Then Ripley was able to get to his feet, tottering toward the
shore, shaking as though with fever and chills.
A cheer went up from those who watched. The enthusiasm would
have been vastly greater had not the crowd had its eyes on Dick
Prescott, who must yet be saved if aid could reach him before
his numbed limbs could sustain him no longer.
"Get that rope off, Ripley," bawled Dave Darrin. "Hurry! I must
throw it to Dick, or he'll go down!"
"I can't get it off," mumbled Fred, tugging vainly, almost aimlessly,
as he still moved coveward.
Pages:
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156