"This is awkward," Jim gasped, taking Carrie's arm and helping her on. "Still, if we keep going, we'll soon strike the gutter."
The roar of the surf gave him some guidance, but sound is puzzling in a fog; there was very little wind, and he could not see the moon. He knew the tide was now running up the channel and hoped he was heading the right way. Shortly afterwards a dull report rolled across the sands.
"A ten-bore!" he exclaimed. "Mordaunt uses a twelve. I expect Dick's shooting, and since the water's rising, he's on the shore flat. Where do you locate the shot?"
"A little to the left," said Jake.
They swerved and presently heard the gun again.
"That's for us," gasped Jim. "Dick has found the punt; I reckon she's afloat."
"Let me go, Jim," said Carrie. "Hurry on and get the punt."
Jim pressed her arm and urged her forward. "I'm going to stick to you until you're safe on board."
"Water!" shouted Jake, from a few yards in front; and something glimmered in the fog, which was getting thin again.
They could see for a short distance, but when they stopped at the edge of the channel the punt was not about. She was, however, painted an inconspicuous gray, and Jim thought she was not far off. While he hesitated, wondering which way to turn, a heavy report came out of the melting fog.