Larry pulled with the rest. He did not see how he was going to get
his story telegraphed to the paper, but he was consoled by the
reflection that there were no other reporters on hand, and that
there was no immediate likelihood of being "beaten." When morning
came he could decide what to do.

So, for the time being, he became a life saver, and pulled on the
long rope attached to the wagon until his arms ached. It was heavy
hauling through the sand, and his feet seemed like lead.

It was nearly midnight when the cove was reached, and after a
desperate struggle the life-boat was launched.

"Some of you go back and get ready to operate the breeches buoy as
soon as it's light enough!" called Captain Needam, as the boat was
pulled away over the heaving billows toward the wreck, which could
be seen in the occasional glare of a rocket or signal light.

"Might as well come back," said George Tucker to Larry. "Can't do
any more here."

Back through the wind and rain they walked, with half a score of
others. They reached the life-saving station, tired and spent from
their struggle through the storm.

"You can go back to Bailey," said George, as Larry sat down inside
the warm and cozy living-room of the station to rest. "He may need
you."