must be another hallucination. Yet he strained his ears eagerly, and screamed again. No, it was no deception; the call was returned, and the voice sounded sweetly familiar. He was down in a hollow, and waited eagerly to mount the coming wave. Up he went, and still up, to come in contact with a bit of wreckage—the fore-topmast of the Columbia, with its trailing ropes. As he caught the end of the mast, he saw that the centre supported a sailor's body.
"Luke Striker!"
"Larry Russell! Is it possible!" came from the Yankee tar. For the moment he could scarcely believe his eyesight. "How did this happen? Did the Columbia go down?"
"I don't know about that," answered Larry, moving closer to his friend. "Oh, how glad I am that we have come together!" he exclaimed, his wet face beaming with pleasure. "It's awful to be alone."
"So it is, Larry, and I was thinking just that same when I heard your call. But how is it you are here if you don't know about the fate of the Columbia?"
"Oleson pitched me overboard. When you went over, I started to call for help, and he turned on me like a flash; and here I am."
