us on its stem.

Roger grasped a handful of slippery stems and held out a strong left hand
to the wounded man.

"Take hold, and I'll pull you out," he said.

The two hands met, one thin and white with a prison pallor, the other
brown and muscular and dependable. They joined, and Roger held on to the
bunch of slippery stems so hard that they cut into his fingers. Once he
thought they were yielding, but at that instant Dalahaide was lifted out
of the mud in which he had sunk. Roger caught him under the arm and held
him up. Scrambling, rustling, pushing, sinking, rising, spitting out
salt, brackish water, they struggled back toward the launch.

There it was, waiting, Trent crouching down, scarcely breathing in his
agony of impatience. They saw him, and at the same time their heads came
into sight for him, among the tall, dark spears of the rushes. In another
moment George in the launch and Roger in the water were pulling and
pushing Maxime, half fainting now, up over the side of the swaying boat.

As he tumbled in, limply, Roger saw a dark stain on the wet, gray convict
jacket. It was black in the moonlight, but Roger knew it would be red by
day. The wound in his back had broken out again, as he had thought; even
if they saved him now, it might only be to die. It was the cold Voice
that said this; and Roger shuddered, yet half his nature welcomed the
suggestion. "I've done what I could, let him die," was the answer that
came. Quickly the little launch began to back out from the entanglement
of the rushes, and as soon as there was room George turned her and sent
her out like an arrow from the lagoon to deeper, clearer water. Beyond a
certain point of rock the _Bella Cuba_ should lie by this time, and once
on board her all might yet be well, for she could easily show her heels
to anything that walked the sea in these waters.

They headed straight for the place where they hoped to find the yacht
waiting, and with an exclamation Trent pointed to the sky, across which
floated a black, gauzy scarf of smoke.

"Ripping old chap, Captain Gorst," chuckled George. "That's his signal.
Trust him to be where he's wanted on time and a bit before."

But Roger was silent. There was a thought in his mind with which he could
not darken George's mood by speaking out. Sufficient for the moment was
the evil thereof.

They were close to the jutting rock now, and it seemed within ten minutes
of safety. But something shot into sight round