“I could no more steer this craft than I could build a bridge across the Sound,” confessed he.
Kenyon felt a firm hand laid upon the spokes, and shifting his gaze from Webster found Dallas at his side.
“I will take the wheel,” said she quietly. Then, noting his surprise, she added, “You need feel no fear. If the vessel will answer, I’ll bring her up.”
“Good girl!” exclaimed Webster.
But Kenyon said nothing. He leaped upon the cabin, and stood gathering himself for the spring. With the ease of an expert the girl drove the Vixen close under the starboard rail of the Wizard, and held her there for a moment.
“Now,” she cried, clearly.
And Kenyon leaped. A sea struck the bow at the same moment and destroyed his calculations; notwithstanding this, however, he grasped the yacht’s rail with one hand and drew himself quickly upon her deck. Then the Vixen fell off; but still he could hear her engine pulsing and see her lights glimmering through the mist. Then he turned his attention to the vessel upon whose deck he stood.
All her deck lanterns were lighted. In her waist a man, breathing heavily, lay stretched near the bulwarks; another stood at the wheel, a revolver in his hand, while a third was at the port rail, also armed with a like weapon. There came a snapping of firearms, apparently from the, to Kenyon, invisible Piedmont. The man at the rail swore furiously and began firing downward; the other man left the wheel and joined him in the fusillade.
“They seem to be enjoying the pastime immensely,” commented Kenyon, under his breath, “so it would be a pity to interrupt them.”
He softly crossed the deck and made his way down the iron steps leading to the engine-room. This was also brilliantly lighted; the engine was throbbing swiftly, but there was no sign of anyone in charge.