The boat, now well alight, kept on its way across the sound. There was no other craft in sight save the boats belonging to the two parties of campers on Storm Island.
Kingdon's wits were quite as active in this emergency as they were while he was bandying words with the unfortunate constable. He hesitated not an instant in hauling on the mooring line of the Spoondrift.
"Come on!" he commanded. "Get aboard and help me up with a hand's breadth of sail, you fellows. Maybe Quibb will drown if we don't look sharp."
"In this calm sea?" sniffed Midkiff, though first to assist his friend.
"You can't tell. Maybe he can't swim."
"He doesn't seem able even to float," squealed little Hicks. "I don't see him come up."
"Keep your eye on the place he went down—hullo! Blacky to the rescue!" exclaimed Rex suddenly.
One of the canoes was darting from the direction of the other camp, and Horace Pence, alone in it, was making his paddle fly. Before Kingdon and his mates were fairly aboard the catboat the canoe was over the spot where Enos Quibb had disappeared.
"He'll get him, King," said Cloudman.
"No chance for us doing the rescue act," Rex observed.