Without a word he sprang toward the helm, brushing Biff Hooper aside. In this emergency, Biff was helpless. Swiftly, Frank bore down on the wheel, bringing the boat around into the wind. At the same time, he opened up the throttle so that the Envoy leaped forward at her highest speed.
The motorboat passed just a few inches in front of the bow of the first sailboat; so close, Chet Morton said afterward, that he "could count every stitch on the patch in the sailcloth." But the danger was not yet over. There was still the other sailboat to be considered. It was pounding along immediately ahead of them; the man at the tiller was making frantic efforts to get out of the way, but the danger lay in the fact that in trying to guess the possible course of the Envoy he might make a false move that would have him shoot directly across its path.
Frank swung the helm around again. Once more, the Envoy veered to the left so sharply that a cloud of spray drenched the boys. Another shift of the wheel and the motorboat zig-zagged safely past the sailboat and on out into open water.
Not one of the boys had uttered a word during this. They had been tense and anxious, but now that the peril of a smash-up had been averted, they sank back with sighs of relief.
"I sure thought we were headed for Davy Jones' locker that time!" breathed Chet.
Biff Hooper looked up at Frank.
"Thanks," he said. "I'd have never got out of that mess if you hadn't taken the wheel. I was so rattled that I didn't know what to do."
"After you've run the boat a few more weeks you'll get so used to it that it'll be second nature to you. But that sure was a tight squeeze," Frank admitted. "It mighty near meant that you wouldn't have had any motorboat left to go on that trip with."
"It mighty near meant that we wouldn't have been left to make the trip at all," Chet declared solemnly. "What say we go home? I've had enough excitement for one day."
"It's beginning to rain, anyway," Biff remarked, glancing up at the sky. "I guess we may as well go back."