Snarling like a dog, the man rushed out of the cabin, leaving Frank alone.
And the White Wings raced through the night toward the open sea.
CHAPTER XVI
CAST ADRIFT.
“Good-by, Frank Merriwell!”
Flynn was leaning over the stern of the White Wings, which was tossing on the heavy seas, and looked down into the small boat where Frank, still bound, had been cast.
At the last moment, Walter Wallace had rebelled and tried to prevent Flynn from carrying out his plan. He had been silenced by a blow that knocked him flat upon the deck. Steve, the sailor, had taken no hand in the work, but Flynn had carried it out alone, and now he was preparing to set the small boat adrift.
At times the clouds scudding across the sky broke and showed a few half-smothered stars. Somehow, even when no stars could be seen, it was not intensely dark on the face of the troubled water, which seemed to give out a light of its own.
But it was a bad night, and everything seemed to indicate that a storm was approaching. The wind howled and the sea made a rushing sound. In the distance it could be heard thundering on The Horses.
“Come!” growled the sailor at the wheel; “be lively there, Flynn. We’ve got to git in somewhere before long. This ain’t no place for us to-night.”