“Can’t turn around now. Too risky.”
Suddenly three sharp whistles sounded so close to the Dartaway that the boys jumped in fright. They thought they were about to be run down. Then came a hail:
“Say, what you chaps trying to do? Commit suicide?”
“Who are you?” called Jerry, slowing down the engine.
“This is the Three Bells. Who are you?”
“Dartaway.”
“Where from?”
“Harmon Beach.”
Out of the mist there loomed up alongside of the boys’ boat another motor craft. It was nearly twice the size of theirs, and the throb of the engine, though it was running slow and on low gear, told better than words of the power of it.