Jim had been scanning the sea, hand over his eyes.

"There's a schooner," he remarked, without enthusiasm.

Percy was all excitement.

"Where? Where?"

"Up there, two miles to windward. Double reefed and clawing west. She'd never see us in a thousand years, and if she did she couldn't do us any good. Forget her!"

The schooner inched her way imperceptibly under the horizon. The boys had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours; excitement had prevented them from feeling hungry. Now they came to a realization that they had stomachs, and they finished half the hard bread remaining in the bag.

"We'll save the rest," decided Jim. "May need it worse later than we do now."

Percy could easily have eaten twice his share, but he recognized the wisdom of Jim's decision. Both were very thirsty, but without a drop of fresh water aboard there was nothing to do but wait.

At four o'clock came disaster. The drug suddenly let go!

Round whirled the dory, side to the seas. Jim grabbed the oar and jammed it into the scull-hole, but before he could wet the blade a crumbling roller almost swamped the boat. Out went everything that would float.

"Save that bucket, Perce!" shouted Spurring.

Percy clutched the handle just as the pail was going over the side. He bailed, while Spurling brought the flooded craft stern to the seas.

"Take her now, Perce! Give me the bucket!"

Furiously he began scooping out the water. After a long, discouraging fight the boat was bailed clear.

"We've got to run before it while I rig another drug," said Spurling.

"Keep her as she is."

In the stern stood a five-gallon can of gasolene, one of the few things that had not been washed overboard when the dory filled. Making use of the sadly diminished coil of ground-line, Jim fastened this can to the end of the painter. Picking a smooth chance, he swung the bow up into the wind again; and soon they were floating snugly behind their new drug.

For another hour they drifted uneventfully. Out of a cloudless sky the red sun dropped below the flying spindrift. A second night was coming, and still the norther raged with undiminished violence.

It was growing dark and the stars were already out when a new sound fell on Percy's ears.

"What's that?" he exclaimed.

Up from the south came a faint, long-drawn, mournful voice, _Oo-oo-oo-ooh!_ They listened breathlessly. It sounded again, _Oo-oo-oo-ooh!_

"Whistling buoy!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jim. He thought a moment. "Cashe's Ledge!"

he shouted. "Sixty miles south of Tarpaulin! That's drifting some since yesterday afternoon. Must be less than a mile to leeward or we couldn't hear it against this gale."

Nearer and nearer, louder and louder, sounded the melancholy note, just west of south. Both boys strained their eyes.

"I see it!" cried Percy, triumphantly. "There--rising on that swell!

Almost astern! It's striped red and black!"

But Jim gave him no heed. Lips parted and face pale, he was gazing intently at something farther off. Suddenly he lifted his hand.

"Listen! Do you hear that?"

Above the noise of the surrounding sea rose a low, savage roar. Percy caught Jim's alarm.

"What is it?"

"The breaker on the shoal! Sometimes it combs up high as a house. It's less than a quarter-mile southwest of the buoy, and we're drifting straight down upon it! If we go over it, we'll be swamped, sure as fate, drug or no drug! We'll simply be buried under tons and tons of water!"

Percy fought off his panic.

"What shall we do?" he stammered.

"Make the whistler--if we can. It's buoy or breaker, and mighty quick, too!"

The dory's drift, if unchanged, would take her several yards west of the steel can crowned with its red whistle-cage. Its warning blast set the air vibrating, _Oo-oo-oo-ooh!_

Jim s.n.a.t.c.hed out his knife and sprang forward.

"Oar in the scull-hole, Perce! Lively!"

Driving the point of his blade into the side of the bow, he dragged the painter in until he reached the gasolene-can. Severing the rope with one quick, strong slash, he scrambled aft and seized the oar.

"Stand by with that painter to jump for the buoy, when I put the bow against it! Better take off your shoes first!"

Percy obeyed. In his stocking feet he would be less liable to slip on the wet iron. Making a loose coil of the painter, he crouched in the bow. Meanwhile Jim had turned the dory round and headed her north of the whistler. A strong current was setting toward the shoal. It took all his strength to scull against it.

Rapidly they neared the can. About eight feet in diameter at the water-line, it tapered to two feet across its flat top, seven feet above. From the circ.u.mference rose two iron bails, crossing each other at right angles, several inches above the whistle, which stood two and one-half feet high. A little to one side stuck up the small tube of the intake valve. Round the buoy above the water-line were bolted four lugs, or iron handles, by which the can could be hoisted on board the lighthouse steamer.

As the steel cone sank the whistle bellowed resonantly. Down, down, till the waves swept over its top. Then, slowly it began to rise. The bellowing cut off, and the air rushed into the intake tube.

Percy watched it, fascinated. Jim's voice roused him to their peril.

"Look sharp! Be ready!"

Less than ten feet of wild black water lay between the madly leaping bow and the buoy. Beyond it the shoal broke with an angry roar in a long line of crumbling foam. Percy gathered his strength for the leap.

The distance lessened, foot by foot. Foot by foot the red-and-black cone emerged, as if thrust up by a giant hand. Percy fastened his eyes on a lug.

A grayback heaved the dory forward.

"Now!" screamed Jim.

Young Whittington sprang upon the bow thwart, painter end in his right hand, and leaped for the lug. A second later the boat crashed against the buoy.

His left hand caught the bent iron bar; his right missed it. His body thudded against the riveted side, slid down, and he hung by one arm, waist-deep in the water.

OO-OO-OO-OOH!!!

From the inverted mouth of the whistle, a few feet above, a hoa.r.s.e, deafening blast roared down into his face.