Two hands are yet on the gunwale.

"Suppose we can git him in?"

"Yessah!" stammers the boy.

The unknown man is evidently wounded, but is more active than when he
was first picked up.

Every wood-chopper is gone. There are no sounds in Georgian Bay other
than the noises of the boat, the wind and the great waves. There were
117 souls on the Africa. Now 114 are drowned. They perished like rats
in a trap.

What moment will the boat overturn again?

"Bail, my son!"

"Yessah!" stammers the boy.

The boat is riding southward and backward at a fast rate. Three hours
have passed--three hours of increasing effort and nerve-straining
suspense.

The wounded survivor lies in the stern of the boat. The boy bails
incessantly. The water is thrown in at the stern in passing over the
boat from the prow.

"It's bad on that rooster!" says Corkey, as he hears the water dashing
on the prostrate form. "Wonder if his head is out of the drink?"