"Scramble aboard!" commanded the skipper of the Spoondrift. "Never mind the canoes."
But Midkiff and Phillips did their part nobly. They hung onto the sinking craft until Horace Pence and Harry Kirby could aid in dragging both upon the deck of the catboat.
"Lash 'em there," commanded Kingdon. "Give us more sail. We've got to make headway against this breeze."
He had brought the Spoondrift into the eye of the wind and, when a reef was shaken out, the sail got the breeze on such a slant that she staggered and rolled like a drunken man.
"Oh, Rex!" squealed the frightened Peewee. "You'll have us turned turtle!"
"Don't worry, infant," responded Kingdon. "You couldn't tip this old girl over. She's as safe as a house."
The plunging of the catboat made them all hang on for dear life. Pudge had stopped crying, and he showed a courage far superior to that of his cousin. Deathly pale, Ben Comas was accusing Horace of having dragged them all into this perilous adventure.
That Pence had elements of the right stuff in him was proved by what he said in return: "You keep that to yourself, Comas, or I'll chuck you over the side. Thank Kingdon and his friends—as I do. We'd all been by-low in a few moments if it weren't for them."
"Huh!" grunted Ben. "What chance have we now?"
"If we are to drown we'll go down with these fellows who have done their best to save us," Pence put in curtly. "Don't forget that. Let's be decent—or, as decent as we can be—if we really have got to drown."