“Two!”
Wallace dropped into the boat. Then Flynn caught the painter out of Steve’s hand and cast the small boat with its two human occupants adrift on the tempestuous sea.
The boat drifted away. The yacht swung round, the wind filled her sails, and away she went into the darkness of the night.
CHAPTER XVII
FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH.
Walter Wallace wept and wrung his hands, clinging to the thwarts of the small boat, which was tossed about like a bit of cork. There was a light on the yacht, and he strained his eyes toward it.
“Oh, he can’t mean to leave me this way!” sobbed the Belfast boy. “He will come back for me!”
But the light grew fainter and fainter as the yacht sped away. The wind was beginning to howl now, curling the crest of the rollers up into white caps, now and then tearing great sheets of water from the waves.
Dimmer and dimmer grew the light, which showed at intervals as the little boat rose to the apex of the waves. Sometimes it could not be seen at all, and then Wallace groaned, for he still clung to the desperate hope that Flynn would put about and return to the boat he had cast adrift.
The Belfast boy seemed to forget that he was not alone in the boat. He prayed and he raved. He expressed regret that he had ever had anything to do with Flynn.