“We’ll have to bail,” said Jerry, grimly. “But it won’t be more than three hours before we’re at the end of the lake.”
They had indeed made good time, better even than on the down trip, with the broken spring. The motor had worked to perfection—too well, in fact, for its vibrations had opened the seams.
“Bail!” cried Miss Payson.
“Yes, we’ll have to dip out the water as fast as it comes in,” said Jerry. “The pump hasn’t capacity enough.”
The progress of the boat was slower now, and it was not until complete darkness had fallen that they reached the improvised dock, whence the trail led up to the cabin where the wounded professor lay.
And the last mile was hardest of all, for the boat was so water-logged that even the powerful motor sent her along only at the pace of a scow.
“Well, she can’t sink, at any rate!” exclaimed Jerry, as he fairly grounded her in shallow water at the dock.
They made their way up the trail, carrying with them all that was necessary for the operation. But were they in time to perform it?
“Who’s there?” called the voice of Ned from the cabin.
“We’re back, old man,” answered Jerry.