"It's the island, all right!" exclaimed Bluff presently, as they drew nearer.
"And we will have to take some chances in getting back of the shelter. You see how the wind blows, and the waves run. Now, please don't bother me. It will require some close calculating to just scrape in without a disaster."
Frank set himself to the task. Mentally, he hoped most fervently that the motor would not take a notion to act contrary just when so much depended on its stability and faithfulness.
Gradually the island began to stand out more distinctly, on their right.
"We're making it, I do believe!" yelled Bluff.
"Why, sure; and the water is getting less rocky already," declared Jerry.
"There you go, copying Frank's salty ways. But I'm not going to dispute it now. I'm only too glad of the chance of resting on smooth water again, whether it happens to be dusty or rocky," avowed Bluff, looking cheerful again.
Even poor Will managed to drag himself out from his shelter to take a dismal, though eager, look. He had the appearance of one who had passed through a long siege of illness, such is the rapidity with which this dreadful malady downs its victims.
"There's one boat already anchored behind the island further on," remarked Jerry.
"I was looking at that fellow," remarked Frank, "and unless I'm mistaken, that's the identical sharpie which came so close to running us down in the fog a little while back."