"Do what?" asked Russ, hardly conscious of what he was saying, for just then a heavy wave threatened to swamp the dory, and it required skillful handling to keep her from being swamped.
"We could yell," suggested Mr. Sneed. "Come on, give 'em a call!"
Russ agreed to this, and, standing up, so their voices would carry better, and bracing themselves against the tumbling, swaying motion of the craft, they sent out a cry for aid—and yet not so much a cry for aid, as they were not yet in distress, but a cry for direction.
"If I could only see where to steer," Russ exclaimed, when they had paused in their yelling, well-nigh exhausted, "it wouldn't be so bad! But I can't see a thing. It's getting darker every minute. I never saw such a funny storm."
"It's coming up all right," declared the actor. "Going to blow great guns soon."
"It's blowing them now," said Russ, grimly, as he clung to the wheel. "I can hardly keep her on the course."
"What's the use of steering a course when you don't know whether it's right or not?" asked the actor.
"Well, I'm not going to give up," Russ said, grimly. "I think I'm headed for the schooner, though I ought to have fetched her sooner than this, at the speed we're going."
"Perhaps she's blowing away from us," suggested Mr. Sneed.
"That's it!" Russ cried. "Why didn't I think of that before? She's running away from us. She can't help it, though, for she must scud before this storm. We've got to increase our speed to catch up to her. The wind and our engine ought to be more than a match for her sails alone. I'll put on more speed."