When lifted on the crest of a wave, Merriwell came plainly in sight; but when either Frank or the raft slipped down the glassy surface of those big, green rollers, he seemed to sink into the sea.
"I'm afraid he is going to have a hard pull! He must be tired out." He shook his fist at the sloop.

It was growing smaller and smaller.

A haze was again creeping over the sea.
"My God! What if the fog should settle down again and keep Merry from finding the raft ?" Bart shuddered at the thought.

But Merriwell was so strong a swimmer that Bart's hopes rose again almost immediately.

There were indications that the fog was once more descending, but Merriwell was now swimming straight toward the raft with a bold, firm stroke, and with considerable speed.
"Right here, old man!" Bart encouragingly called.
"I'm coming!" Merriwell shouted, and his tones did not show exhausting fatigue.
Then he swam up to the raft, and Bart helped him to climb upon it.
"What was the matter with those scoundrels ?" "Deaf!" "What ?" "Deaf as posts, both of them!" Merriwell explained, resting on the boards and panting from his exertions.