Tower and patrol, both, flashed their message to the white Coast Guard Station upon the island-shore. A strong search-light scanned the bay.
In its radiance forth leaped the light steel life-boat, rowed by strong arms; the Coast Guard power-boat, the old self-bailer, too, hustling as she could do, in an emergency.
“O dear! I hope she can show a little more speed--that self-bailing ark--than Captain Andy gave her credit for. Otherwise, she won’t overhaul the launch! He--may--get away, after all!... Oh-h, there’s Betty calling! Poor little Betty!”
With signal-flashes in her finger-tips that seemed to light the water round her, the sands ahead, the Flame shoved her dory’s nose up on to the beach again.
A wild-eyed Betty met her! Some one else!
“Is it true--true--that they’re after a spy, the Coast Guards--that you signaled them? You?” cried Atlas.
Sara turned a flash-light beam upon him and nodded.
“We--we’ve been searching for you! Just got here!... Oh! isn’t there a boat--a boat of any kind--anywhere--on this old graveyard of a beach? I--I want to take after him, too!... I--must!”
The boyish tones wildly bristled as Atlas’ search-light glance implored the sands, resting for a fatuous moment upon the dim shape of a canoe--Little Owl’s birch-bark canoe.
“Pshaw! you couldn’t go in her; she’s light’s a feather. Here, you may take my--dory!”