The captain hummed a merry old sea tune to himself as the sails filled and the "Nomad" began to forge ahead. By his side stood Cal Gifford, whom we have rather lost sight of recently. The fact is, that Cal at sea was by no means so self-assertive a person as Cal ashore. The former stage driver had been suddenly plunged into, what was to him, an entirely novel and somewhat harrying existence.
The "Nomad," answering her helm like a race horse, made good headway, and in the meantime the party in the engine room labored unceasingly. At last all was declared in readiness to test the engine. But when Sam operated the mechanism that should have resulted in starting the motor they did no more than turn over lazily, with a sort of hoarse cough, and then stop dead.
Again and again he tried to start them, but they stubbornly resisted.
"Take a look at the carburetors," suggested Nat.
Sam bent over one of the brass mixing chambers and then looked up with an odd expression.
"Queer," he said; "no wonder the engines wouldn't start. No gasolene."
"No gasolene!" echoed Captain Akers. "We must examine the tanks at once. There should be a supply enough to last for several weeks more."
"It can't have leaked out, or we'd have smelled it," said Joe.
"No," said Captain Akers, who looked rather worried, "the tanks are provided with out-board drains, so that in case of a leak no gasolene can get into the boat and cause an explosion."
A brief examination of the main tank served to confirm the fear which had already formed itself in Captain Akers' heart.