In the steel mill and on the gridiron the young football star had known team work, but never such as this. Forgotten were the perils that lurked in the night; forgotten the danger of darkness and possible storm. For the moment here was life, life as he had never before known it. What else could matter?
So, with the moon just showing over the rocky crest of Isle Royale, they swept across the narrow channel, then took up a course that in time would lead them out into the wide open sea.
The girl too had caught the spell of the night. As they stole into the shadow of a great rock towering up from the depths, she shuddered, but rowed steadily on.
“A real little brick!” Red thought to himself. “Nothing soft.”
He resolved that, should they make it, she certainly must be on the side lines in that greatest of all games that was to come.
The rocks they passed grew lower and lower. The shoal was breaking up here. Soon they would leave it all behind. And then, with only that winking, blinking light to guide them, they would face the swells and go gliding over them to—. Red’s thoughts broke off.
“Listen!”
Had he heard something, the low groan of an oarlock, the mumble of a voice? Who could say? It did not come again.
Swinging the boat about, he headed it straight for the Passage Island light that, gleaming a good four miles away, seemed to send them an encouraging wink.
With a rush of glee a great swell seized them and lifted them lightly. But, like some good-natured giant, it let them down gently to go on their way with a whispering swish of foam.