“Just wait and see,” advised Frank.
The changing breeze filled the sail and again the ice-boat sprang forward. The other craft was slowing down, and the steersman was desperately trying to bring it about with the wind again. But he was too late. The Hardy boys’ boat swept triumphantly across his bow and Chet gave a shout of delight. On down the bay sped the little craft and by the time the other boat’s sails were billowing again the lads were far in the lead. Looking back, they saw the beaten rival slowly turning about into the wind, heading back up the bay.
“That’s real seamanship!” declared Joe.
“Oh, well, we have a good boat,” returned Frank, refusing to claim any credit for the victory. “We were lucky the wind changed.”
Ahead of them loomed a high, gloomy cliff, rising sheer from the ice. Beyond that, they knew, was one of the largest coves on Barmet Bay, known as Cabin Cove.
“Let’s go on and take a look at Cabin Island,” suggested Chet. “Seeing we’re so close to the place we might as well pay it a visit.”
“Sure thing,” approved the others.
Cabin Island, in Cabin Cove, was a lonely spot, even more desolate now that the bay was locked in ice. It was seldom visited, even in the summer months, because it was an inhospitable place, with high cliffs rising almost directly from the water, with only a few landing places that were difficult of access.
The Hardy boys had often wanted to visit the island in the summer, but their motorboat, the Sleuth, was too large to be maneuvered among the rocks that skirted the lonely shore, without running danger of being dashed to pieces by the angry waves.
“We won’t have any trouble making a landing now,” said Frank. “We can bring the ice-boat right up to the base of the cliffs until we find a place where it is possible to climb to the top.”