“Go back for Tommy,” answered Nelson. Bob looked doubtful.
“Can we do it?” he asked. “Aren’t you afraid of running into something?”
“No, I guess not. We’ll keep the whistle going, you can take the wheel, I’ll stand at the engine, and Dan can keep a lookout from the bow. We don’t draw much water and there weren’t any shallows as far as I could see coming down here. Besides, we ought to be able to see the shore at least ten feet away. If Dan keeps a good lookout and yells quickly, and you pass the word on down to me we’ll manage all right, I guess. Let’s get the mud-hook up.”
That done, Bob took the wheel, Dan perched himself in the bow, and Nelson started the engine at the slowest speed. The Vagabond, with a shrill screech from her whistle that so surprised Dan that he nearly tumbled off the bow, pushed the fog aside and crept through the silence. All went well for a moment. Then came a quick warning from Dan.
“Back her!” he yelled. “Land dead ahead!”
“Back her!” called Bob, swirling the wheel around. There was a sudden commotion under the launch’s stern as the propeller was reversed and, at the same instant, a tiny jar as her bow settled on to the sandy bottom. Dan ran back and seized the boat hook.
“Tell Nel to keep her backing,” he called, “and I’ll see if I can’t shove her off.”
But it was a five minutes’ task, and had not the tide been coming in instead of running out it is likely that the Vagabond would have stayed where she was for a good twelve hours. But finally her bow was free once more and Dan shoved and panted over the boat hook until the launch was headed away and the dim line of shore was gone from sight again.
“All right now,” he called, and Nelson again threw the clutch forward. In the excitement of getting afloat they had forgotten the whistle, but now Nelson made up for lost time, and the launch poked her way gingerly along to an accompaniment of distressful shrieks.
“How are we going to know when we get back to where we left Tommy?” asked Bob down the companion way.