George Edwards held his breath in suspense. The hull of the little craft was so long out of sight that he began to fear he would never see it again; but, all of a sudden, it bobbed up as buoyantly as a cork, and once more that frantic appeal for assistance was borne across the lake.

George was now able to see that there were two boys in the boat. One was clinging to the mast, waving his handkerchief over his head as a signal of distress, and the other was seated in the stern, wielding a clumsy-looking paddle, with which he endeavored to keep the boat before the wind.

George looked at them, and then he looked toward the promontory on which he had stopped to rest when he first reached the lake.

This promontory was about fifty feet in height, and its base was thickly lined with rocks, over which the waves were dashing with great violence, throwing the spray high in the air. It was not more than half a mile distant, and the wind was driving the boat toward it with fearful rapidity.

“What lunatics those fellows must be to venture out on this lake when they don’t know how to manage a boat!” exclaimed George. “If they hold that course they will be dashed to pieces on the rocks, as sure as they are living boys.” Then, bringing his hands to his face, and using them as a speaking-trumpet, he shouted with all the power of his lungs, “Haul down your sail and pull for the beach!”

The boy who was holding on to the mast waved his signal of distress over his head, and then the boat sank out of sight again.

When she reappeared, George once more shouted to her crew to haul down the sail, at the same time striving to warn them of their danger by pointing toward the rocks and beckoning to them to come ashore.

But his instructions must have been misunderstood, or else the boat’s crew could not obey them, for their little craft kept driving on toward the rocks, while one of the boys continued to wave his handkerchief, and the other to ply his clumsy paddle.

It was plain that they could not save themselves, and that George was the only one who could render them any assistance. The boy’s face grew pale when this fact flashed upon him, but it wore a very determined look.

“It’s almost certain death,” said he, as he cast off the painter and pushed the scow into the water; “but I can at least make the attempt. If I go under, there is nobody to miss me.”

Pushing his scow through the surf, and wading until the water was nearly up to his waist, George clambered in, shipped the oars, and pulled out into the lake.

When Uncle Ruben was at the cabin, he had shown a disposition to turn up his nose at his nephew’s boat, which was the boy’s own handiwork; but if he could have seen how she behaved now, he would have learned that she was much better than she looked to be. Being broad of beam and light of draught, she seemed to skim over the top of the waves instead of breaking through them, and, heavy as she was, George was able to send her ahead with considerable speed.

He rowed fast enough to intercept the sailboat when she was within less than a quarter of a mile of the threatening rocks and then he found, greatly to his surprise, that she was a canoe, so lightly built, apparently, that a boy of ordinary strength could take her on his back and walk off with her with all ease.

She was making bad weather of it, for she was half-full of water, and every time she struck a wave she would bury her nose in it almost out of sight. If her two occupants realized the danger of their situation, they did not show it. They were as cool as boys could possibly be.

The one in the bow watched George’s movements with a good deal of interest, while the dignified young fellow in spectacles, who was sitting in the stern and using the butt of his double-barrel for a paddle, issued his orders with great calmness and deliberation.

“Bring your boat around head to the wind, if you can, and let us come alongside of you,” said he, addressing himself to George. “You will have to do all the work, for I have lost my paddle; and if the canoe should broach to, we’d be tumbled out into the lake before you could say ‘General Jackson’ with your mouth open.”

George saw at a glance that the dignified young gentleman knew how to handle a canoe, and that in keeping the sail hoisted he was doing the best that could be done under the circumstances. If he had attempted to make the beach, he would have brought his cranky little craft broadside to the waves, and, having no centre-board, and scarcely any bearing, she would have been overturned in an instant, leaving her crew to sink, or drift helplessly toward the rocks.

That very thing did happen to her soon. Although George tried hard to place himself directly across her bows, the canoe shot wild of him; and in his efforts to bring her alongside the scow, the skipper lost control of her, and over she went, turning completely bottom upward.

The rocks were now but a short distance away, and the noise made by the waves as they dashed over them was enough to frighten anybody. George was frightened, and his pale face showed it.

It would have been a work of no little difficulty to row a light boat away from that dangerous spot; but to wait there long enough to pick up a couple of boys who were tossed about by the waves, now here, now there, and always just out of reach, to rescue them and then save himself, was a task requiring great skill and prudence.

George looked at the rocks and then he looked about for the canoe’s crew. To his great joy they arose to the surface, one after the other, and they were close ahead of him, too. One was near enough to seize the gunwale of the scow, while the other promptly laid hold of the oar that was thrust out toward him.

“Where’s Goggles?” asked the first, wiping the water out of his eyes, and looking around to find his companion.

“He’s all right!” answered George. “Climb in—quick! Not over the side, for your weight will capsize the scow. Go around to the stern. Be lively now, or the waves will throw us on the rocks.”

The boy looked toward the breakers, but the sight of them did not seem to terrify him in the least. He worked his way around to the stern, climbed into the scow, and then turned to assist his companion, who was clinging to the oar with one hand, while in the other he held a light double-barreled shotgun.

“Say, Goggles!” said the boy in the boat; “I am just a hundred dollars out of pocket, by this day’s work. Give us your gun. Mine is at the bottom of the lake. I told you your cranky little egg-shell wasn’t seaworthy!”

“The canoe is all right, so far as her seagoing qualities are concerned,” was the reply. “If I hadn’t lost my paddle overboard, she would have taken us ashore without shipping so much as a cupful of water. But we have taken our last ride in her. She will be smashed into kindling-wood on those rocks.”

“Haul him in! haul him in!” cried George, in great excitement. “We shall be smashed into kindling-wood, too, if we don’t get out of this! Now, then,” he continued, as the boy who had been addressed as “Goggles” was dragged aboard, “take an oar, one of you, and pull for your life.”

The boys had no light task before them, and if Goggles had not been a capital oarsman, it is hard to tell how the struggle would have ended.

For a long time the heavy boat seemed to remain stationary. With all their exertions, they could make no perceptible headway; but finally they began to gain a little, and, after half an hour’s hard pulling, they succeeded in beaching the scow about half-way between the promontory and the cabin.

George landed there, because he thought it would be easier to walk a quarter of a mile than it would be to pull the boat that distance against the wind and the waves.

“Now, then,” said Goggles, as he and his companion assisted in securing the boat, so that it would not drift away; “the next thing is something else. A fire to dry our clothes by and something good to eat, would be very acceptable just now. Do you live far from here, my friend?”

“Only a short distance away,” answered George. “If you will go up to my shanty, you can have both the fire and the supper. I can’t promise you that the grub will be very good—”

“Say nothing about that,” interrupted Goggles. “I hope we shall not put your folks to any trouble.”

“No,” replied George, sadly; “you’ll not put them to any trouble.” Then, seeing the expression of surprise and inquiry on the faces of the rescued boys, he added, “I am my own cook and housekeeper. I am living up here alone.”

“Oh, you’re out for a holiday, then! You came here to hunt and fish, I suppose?”

“Yes, I came here to fish; but I am not taking a holiday. It’s a matter of bread and butter with me.”

“You don’t say so! Can’t you find anything to do in the village?”

“No, I can’t,” replied George.

But he did not tell the boy the reason why.

“Well, there’s no use in standing here in the rain any longer. Let’s go up to your ‘shanty,’ as you call it. You have rendered us a most important service,” said Goggles, with much feeling, as he took George’s hand in both his own and shook it warmly. “I never saw anybody exhibit as much pluck as you have shown to-day. What can we do for you?”

“Take a big bite while you are about it,” said the other boy, who had stood by, listening in silence to this conversation. “We owe our lives to you.”

“You owe me nothing but your good-will,” replied George. “I am sure you would have done as much for me.”

“I don’t know about that,” replied Goggles, as the three hurried up the beach toward the cabin. “One needs courage, and a good share of it, too, to enable him to go deliberately into danger for the sake of helping somebody; and that’s a quality I don’t pretend to possess. Now, perhaps you would like to know who we are. My friend here is Bob Howard, and he lives away out of the world, in a place called Arizona. I am Dick Langdon, at your service, and live in a white man’s country, my home being in Connecticut.”

“There’s where the wooden nutmegs come from!” observed Bob Howard.

“My name is George Edwards, and I live there,” said our hero, pointing to the cabin, which was now in plain sight.

It looked mean and forbidding now. It was good enough for him, for he had never been accustomed to luxurious surroundings; but, if there was any faith to be put in appearances, the boys who were to be his guests until the storm was over, were the sons of wealthy parents, and he thought they would look out of place under his humble roof.

He did not then know that one of them was more familiar with life in the woods than he was, and that he had many a time been glad to crawl into a hollow log for shelter. George didn’t know, either, that his life and Bob Howard’s were destined to run along in the same channel, and that they were to be the heroes of an adventure that is talked of on the frontier until this day; but such was the fact.