He pushed on unfalteringly. Glancing from time to time over his shoulder, Tobias saw that the occupant of the stalled motor-boat had sunk down in her cockpit. He seemed to have lost his steering oar, and the craft was being tossed whithersoever the sea would.
"The poor fish!" growled Tobias. "He's likely to find a watery grave after all. Must be something the matter with him."
As the dory drew nearer the lightkeeper saw a pallid face staring at him over the gunnel of the motor-boat. The boat had shipped considerable water and was wallowing deep in the sea; but the man seemed unable even to bail out.
"Crippled—must be," decided the rescuer, at last. "I'd better get to him soon, or he'll lose all holts."
Despite the boisterous seas the lightkeeper brought his dory skilfully alongside the tossing motor-boat. The wan face of the young fellow in it advertised his woe.
"What's the matter with ye?" bawled Tobias.
"I've hurt my foot!" replied the man. "I guess I've sprained it."
"Oh, sugar! That might ha' kept ye from walking ashore. But what's the matter with your boat?"
"The engine won't run, and the steering-gear is fouled. I haven't been able to do a thing with it since daybreak."
"Hard luck!" returned Tobias. "Better come aboard here. Can ye make it alone?"