“I was afraid we were goners when I lost the oar,” said McConnell.
They strained their eyes through the fog, but could see no trace of their pursuer. Yet Allan did not feel that they were safe from him unless he could keep the wind astern, and thus be as sure as was possible that they would not cross his track in the fog.
For fifteen minutes Allan kept the Arabella with the wind, utterly uncertain of their direction.
All about them was the gray, still mist that filled the boys with a strange sense of mystery.
Overhead the mist was silvery, as if the sun was threatening to come through; yet when they looked on either side of the boat the veil was impenetrable.
“Did you hear something?” asked McConnell.
“No, what was it like?”
“Like a boat whistle.”
Allan’s face changed. Yes, he could hear the sound himself. It was distant, but he could discern the deep-throated note of a large river steamer.
“What can we do?” asked McConnell, with a new anxiety.