enough, they may come through it," said Blake. "But it's a tough proposition."
"It sure is," agreed his chum. They had gone back to snap a few pictures, and then, finding that the automatic apparatus was working well, they again joined the group on the sands.
"Another pull or two and we'll have 'em ashore!" yelled the captain. "Lively, men!"
As he spoke a grizzled seaman rushed up to him.
"That anchor's slippin' ag'in!" he bellowed through the noise of the storm. "I can't put sand on fast enough to hold it!"
"Then I'll have some one help you!" cried the captain. "Here, Si Watson! You git back there and help Jim pile sand on that anchor. It mustn't be allowed to pull out—do you understand? It mustn't pull out if—if you have to—sit on it!"
"Aye—aye, sir," was the answer, and the two men ran back to where the anchor was buried in the beach, to pile the sand on with the shovels provided for that purpose.
"Now one more pull, and we'll have 'em safe!" yelled the captain a little later, and with a mighty haul his men bent to their task.
"There they come through the last line of surf!" yelled Joe, pointing to the buoy containing the two shipwrecked persons.
