“I won’t stay here,” Gale said. “We might as well try to make it in the canoe as stay here and get drenched—besides being hit with a falling tree.”
“We couldn’t take the canoe over those waters,” Bruce said again. “Tell you what, you wait in the club house—I’ll take the canoe and try to reach the motor boat. I won’t have to go far, we can see it adrift out there, and it will be safer crossing in the motor boat.”
“If you go, I go,” Gale said stubbornly. “I’ll hold the canoe about while you climb onto the motor boat.”
Bruce started to argue but it was of no avail. Gale was quite firm in her determination to accompany him. Bruce brought the canoe down to the water’s edge and held it steady while Gale climbed into it. The canoe tossed about like a paper cup.
“We won’t make it,” Bruce said shaking his head. “We won’t even stay right side up until we reach the motor boat.”
“We can try,” Gale insisted. “Get in.”
Tremulously the two trusted the small, fragile boat to the fury of the bay waters. Waves rocked them, more than once the canoe hovered on the verge of going over. Their paddles were as naught against the black water. Neither spoke. Gale took an oar and between them they tried to steer the canoe to the dark outline of the motor boat. Every time they sent the boat forward a stroke the waves hurled them back. The struggle lasted scarcely any time at all. Like a paper bag the canoe crumpled, tossing them into the water.
Gale came to the surface spluttering in protest at the mouthful of water she had swallowed. In the darkness she looked about for Bruce. He came up to the right of her.
“Make for the shore,” he cried. “The island!”
They had completely lost sight of the motor boat and the mainland was too far away to dream of swimming there. The waves tossed them about like playthings. Both were excellent swimmers but their training was lost in the swirl of the stormy waters. They were pitched ahead, dragged down, and finally tossed up on the shore weak and breathless.