"That's a grand idea!" exclaimed Brightwood, grasping at a straw. "Not a hundred miles but perhaps thirty or forty miles. Old boy, we'll be cooking lunch on a stove of pure gold in half an hour. You'll see! Just get your light fixed right and I'll take a wider circle. That'll get it."
"But if we use up much more gas we won't get back to land," hesitated Vincent.
"Land! Who wants to get back to land!" the other exploded. "If worst comes to worst we've got the wireless, haven't we? We can light on the water and send out an S. O. S., can't we? I must say you're a mighty bum sailor."
"Oh, all right," said Vincent, stung into silence, "go ahead and try it."
Again the motors thundered. Again the spot light traced a circular path across the dark waters, which to the boy who held the light, appeared to be reaching up black, fiendish hands to drag them down. This time the circle they cut was many miles in circumference, miles which drew deeply from the supply of gasoline in their tanks.
CHAPTER XIV
THE COMING STORM
As Curlie's feet carried him forward on the deck of the Kittlewake, his eyes beheld the ghost which rose from the hatch taking on a familiar form. A white middy blouse, short white skirt and a white tarn, worn by a slender girl, moved forward to meet him. As the form came into the square of light cast by a cabin window, his lips framed her name: