Henry Tremaine, who had put away the marine glass, began to tramp the deck at starboard, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Halstead,” he cried, desperately, at last, “what can we do—no matter what the cost—to get up closer to that pirate craft!”
“Nothing more than we’re doing now, sir.”
“Can’t we burn more gasoline?”
“Not without heating the motors so that we’d be stopped altogether within a few minutes.”
“How far are we away from the ‘Buzzard’?”
“Probably five miles, at least.”
“Then, even if we gained half a mile an hour for ten hours, we’d just barely get alongside?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Whereas, in a good deal less than ten hours, it will be dark?”