Part 23 (1/2)

”Why, I thought Joe was here, right ready for his next duty,” cried Halstead, amazedly. ”Where--”

”He went below,” bawled back Jed. ”But he's not in the engine room.”

”Then he's doing something that's good, any way,” spoke Tom, with whole faith in his tried comrade.

Once more the young captain turned to watch the line of breakers. The ”Meteor” was deadly close now, her staunch hull in imminent danger.

”Here-quick!” roared Dawson's heaviest tones.

His head showed in the hatchway. He was handing through a metal can.

”And I've got another one,” he shouted. ”Thought there must be some reserve aboard, so I explored the spare lockers aft. There-got it?”

For Tom had s.n.a.t.c.hed up a five-gallon can and was lifting it to the covered deck forward. The ”Meteor” was rolling and pitching under the las.h.i.+ng of the gale. Waves broke and dashed over that forward deck, but Joe, with a second five-gallon can, followed. Both boys had to crawl, feeling as though they were holding on by their teeth.

”You pour-I'll s.h.i.+eld the inlet from water!” shouted Dawson, over all the roar of the elements. ”It's life or death in a minute, now, old chum!”

Well enough Tom knew that, but he saw also the one bare chance of getting all hands out of their awful plight. Dawson crawled around to windward of the inlet to the gasoline tank, s.h.i.+elding it as much as he could with his body. He unscrewed the cap, while Tom removed the smaller top of one of the gasoline cans.

”Wait until the dash of the next wave is past,” shouted Halstead. ”Then I'll pour.”

Though it took many precious moments, they contrived to empty the can into the tank without getting any salt water mixed with it.

”Now, another can!” breathed Joe tensely.

But Tom, raising his eyes to glance at the spray-ridden reef, answered quickly:

”Later. There isn't a second to lose now. Hustle back!”

The dragging anchor r.e.t.a.r.ded the bow of the boat somewhat. It was the stern that seemed about to strike the reef. While Joe worked like lightning in the engine room Tom stood with both hands resting on the wheel. He dreaded, every instant, to feel the b.u.mp and the jar that should tell the news that the ”Meteor” had struck.

”What do you want? Speed ahead?” bawled up Joe.

”As quickly as you can possibly give it,” Tom answered.

Still Halstead stared astern. It seemed as though the reef were rising to meet the hull of the boat.

Throb! Chug! The motor was working, slowly. With an inward gasp of thanksgiving Halstead swung the bow around a bit to port. The engine, weaker than the gale, must drag the anchor at least a short distance.

Any attempt to raise it too soon might hold the boat to the danger line.

But Tom felt a sudden glow of happiness. The ”Meteor” was forging slowly ahead. She would soon be safe, if the engine remained staunch. There was fearfully little oil in the tank, and he knew that the delivery of gas to the ignition apparatus must be very slight.

Out of the engine room came Joe in a hurry, signaling to Jed to follow him. The two crawled out, over that wet, slippery forward deck of the rolling, pitching boat, and managed to empty a second can into the tank.

The engine was working better by the time that the pair regained the bridge deck.

”That's enough to get us out of all trouble,” shouted Joe briefly. ”We needn't bother about the third one aft until we're well out of this.”

Captain Tom, watching the reef that they were slowly leaving behind, soon decided that it was time to haul in the anchor that had held. Joe and Jed accomplished this. The instant that the drag was clear of the bottom the ”Meteor” shot ahead.

”Hurrah!” yelled all three of the young seamen, when that new start came.