“Gardy,” he said in a strange tone.
“Yes?”
“Doesn’t it seem to you we’re pretty near there?”
I looked around. So absorbed had I been in my thoughts that I had not paid any attention to the distance we had traveled. Now I saw by the hills about us that we were nearing the foot of the bay.
“It’s funny we don’t see any lights,” said George. “Let’s sprint a little, Gardy.”
We paddled at top speed for several minutes, but we fell back to our former stroke. No lights were in sight.
A sinister silence fell upon us. Our paddles rose and fell methodically, but in spite of the exercise I felt cold and faint.
“Here we are,” said George anxiously. “Here’s the point just above where the yacht’s anchored. Soon’s we get around this point we’ll see her lights, sure.”
Our strokes increased in speed and power. Once around the promontory which loomed ahead in the darkness and the lights of the Wanderer would gleam out to us a hearty welcome.
“Got to get there soon; got to!” muttered George. “I’m all in. Need some of the dope the doctor left for me. Need it badly.”