“The shaft wound up that line while we were going astern,” he explained. “It ought to unreel if I can send the old tub ahead.”
Switching on the current, he managed to get a revolution or two. Then the motor stopped firing.
“No go?” inquired Dorothy.
“Not a chance!”
He ripped off his life preserver and slipping out of his rubber coat, pulled forth a jack-knife and opened it.
“What are you going to do?” Dorothy paused in her bailing.
“Get overboard and try to cut us loose. Don’t stop! Keep at it for all you’re worth. It’s our only chance of safety!”
Wielding her bucket in feverish haste, she watched Bill lower himself over the stern. The water pounded by this unseasonable sleet must be freezingly cold. She wished it were possible to help him. Fortunately, the Mary Jane was light of draft. He would not have to get his head under, but that tough line must be twisted and plaited and hard as wire. What if his knife broke, or slipped from his numbed fingers? Dorothy shuddered. Meanwhile, the storm was getting worse and the heavy boat drifted before it.
“Hey, there, Dorothy! Give me a hand up!”
She dropped the bucket and sprang to his assistance. Then, as his head came in sight, she leaned over and gripping him under the arms, swung him over the stern.