There is not much excitement in a sailing race, as the boys very soon found out. There was nothing they could do, which would have been the case in a motor craft, to add to their speed. All they could do was to sit and let the wind carry them. And they were glad to see that the breeze was continually freshening.
“There’ll be another gale before night, if this keeps up,” predicted Frank.
“Let it,” assented Andy. “The Gull likes heavy weather, and we can stand it.”
“Yes, but father and mother will be worried about us. If it comes on to blow too hard we’ll have to turn back.”
“And let that man get away?”
“There’d be no help for it. But we haven’t turned back yet, and now his craft ought to be easy to trace.”
Once more they looked through the glass at the vessel ahead of them. They could see sailors moving about on deck, but that was all. No sign of the tall dark man was visible.
“Perhaps he isn’t aboard,” suggested Andy.
“It can’t be helped,” answered his brother. “We want the motor boat almost as much as we want the man, and we can’t take our choice I’m afraid. But we are certainly creeping up on them.”
This was true, for while two miles had at first separated the vessels, the distance was now narrowed to a little less than a half mile, and the Gull was sailing better than was her rival.