What the thing was, Leander could not imagine; but the yell he gave would have shamed an Indian on the war-path.
"Get out!" were his words, and he tried to kick the thing off; but his efforts were unavailing, and whatever it was, it drew about his legs closer and closer and then started to drag him under the surface of the ocean.
He yelled again; but his chums were too intent upon winning the race to pay much attention to him. "Come on, don't lag behind!" called out Dick. "You may win yet."
Before anybody noticed that something was wrong, Bob had reached the rudder post and had won. But now old Jacob was on his feet, and pointing excitedly to where Leander was clutching at the empty barrel and yelling at the top of his lungs.
"Somethin' is wrong with the lad," said the old Yankee tar.
"Help! help!" screamed the terrified boy. "Something has me by the legs and is trying to pull me under!"
"Is it possible!" cried Robert Menden. He turned to the old sailor. "What can it be?"
"Don't know—maybe a devil-fish," was the answer.
"Help! don't leave me to die!" came from Leander. He had slipped from the barrel, but now he clutched it once more.
