The turkey-hunter was swimming hand-overhand, "dog-fashion," for the shore.

Behind him was a boat, upside-down, which seemed just on the point of sinking out of sight.
"Hel-low, there!" cried Harry; "what's the matter, Tony ?" Tony never answered a word, but spluttered and puffed, and struck out slowly but vigorously for the bank.
"Wait a minute," cried Harry, wildly excited, "I'll reach you a pole." But Tony did not wait, and Harry could find no pole.

When he turned around from his hurried search among the bushes, the turkey-hunter had found bottom, and was standing with his head out of water.

But the bottom was soft and muddy, and he flopped about dolefully when he attempted to walk to the bank.

Harry reached his gun out toward him, but Tony, with a quick jerk of his arm, motioned it away.
"I'd rather be drownded than shot," he spluttered.