"Better come with me," suggested the man. "There are no hotel accommodations here, though there once were. I have a shack down on the beach, and you're welcome to what I've got. I fish for a living. Bailey's my name. Bert Bailey."
"Go ahead. I'll follow," returned Larry. "I'd like to get out of this rain."
"Have to tog you out like me," said the old fisherman, as he led the youth toward his hut. "These are the only things for this weather."
As they hastened on there came over the water the boom of a signal gun from the wrecked steamer.
CHAPTER II
ASHORE ON A RAFT
"What's that?" asked the young reporter, pausing.
"She's firing for help," replied the fisherman. "Can't last much longer now."