Then he dived back toward the corner again. He had belatedly become aware of an object that he had seen there—a two-burner gasoline stove, apparently for use in the summer when the coal stove would not be kept going.
Ken picked the small compact mechanism up and shook it. Its tank gurgled. There was gasoline inside! Not much—but perhaps a gallon. Hugging the stove to his chest he made his way outside to the pump.
“Gas!” he shouted to Sandy.
Sandy needed no further explanation. His cracked lips split wide in a grin.
“Keep pumping!” he ordered Cal. And then, taking the stove from Ken, he led the way to the engine house.
Carefully, as if they were pouring molten gold, they emptied the liquid from the stove’s gas tank into the tank of the engine. Then Sandy wrapped starting rope around the pulley.
“Here goes!” The engine spun under Sandy’s pull, but it didn’t quite catch. Sandy wrapped the rope around the pulley again. He hunched his shoulders forward and threw his full weight against the line.
The engine coughed—sputtered—spit. It died momentarily, and then it started again. The gears began to move the rocker arm that worked the twin pistons. Water spurted out of the pump’s big outlet pipe!
“She’s going!”
Sandy closed the flap of the engine house. He got it shut just before another wave struck them. They came up gasping when it had subsided. The engine hadn’t faltered.