CHAPTER XXIX.
CORNERED AT LAST.
“See any lights ahead?”
Half choked and blinded by the spray, Nat put the question to Nate as under reduced speed the Nomad fought her way through the storm.
“Not yet, but I’m keeping a bright lookout for them.”
“That’s right. We ought to sight her before long, if she hasn’t gone ashore.”
Fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes passed and the stout little craft still plunged forward in the night, at times almost entirely obscured by spume and flying spray. With anxious eyes they peered through the blackness.
“She can’t have gone down!” suggested Nate in his blunt way.
“Oh, surely not that!” cried Nat. “There,—there,—look!”
“Good!” shouted Nate with stentorian lungs and sublime disregard of grammar, “it’s her, for sure.”