“It’s your fault, Bob,” said Jerry.
“Needn’t rub it in, though,” came from Chunky, in aggrieved tones.
“We’ll do the best we can,” spoke Sam. “You trust to me and I’ll bring you out of this if possible.”
But, though Sam made light of the plight they were in, it was not one to be easily passed over. The party was in a good boat, a craft that had been tried on the open sea, and which had proven its stability. The Dartaway was indeed a craft of which to be proud. But the boys were farther out on the deep than they had been during the squall. Though it was now calm, there was no telling how long it would remain so, and the increasing haze seemed to promise a spell of bad weather.
“Let’s make everything snug,” suggested Sam. “That’s the first thing to do. How about lights? We’ll have to show ’em after dark, to avoid being run down.”
“We have them,” said Jerry. “Why, are we in any danger of collision?”
“Well, we’re not exactly in the path of steamers that go up and down the coast,” the sailor replied, “but there’s no telling when one will come along. Best to prepare for ’em.”
Under his direction the boys made fast all loose gear. Jerry looked to the engine, found there was plenty of gasolene in the tank, and saw that the awning posts were well secured. The covering was up, but the side curtains had not yet been let down. Then the red and green lights were set aglow, as, though it would not be dark for some time, Sam said they ought to do as much as possible by daylight. There was no carbide for the search light, but they did not think they would need it.
It was almost dark when all their preparations had been completed, and Sam took a long look around to see if he could, through the haze, make out anything that would serve for a mark to steer by. But it was impossible.
“Maybe I can get a glimpse of the stars,” he said. “Once I get my eye on the dipper I’m all right.”