“We may get a break. Your boat was put on deck after two others. That means they’ll have to put her in the water before taking the others off. If there was gas in her tank we might slip down to her and get away.”
“But the gas, Johnny?”
“There are two large cans in another boat. I saw them. I—I’m going to plug up that hole in your tank, then try to fill it from the cans.”
“They—they may catch you.” Her voice trembled.
“I’ll take a chance.” He rose without a sound. “I’m off. If I don’t come back, tell good old MacGregor.”
“I—I’ll tell him.” Her whisper was lost in the wind. He was gone.
Creeping along the swaying deck, dodging behind a lifeboat when the watch appeared, scooting forward, then pausing to listen, he at last reached the side of the Krazy Kat.
After securing the cans of gasoline, he lifted them to the deck of Rusty’s small boat. Then, with a deft swing, he threw himself after the cans. The deck was wet with fog. Slipping, he went down in a heap, but made no sound.
Feeling about in the dark, he found the tank and the leak. A sharpened splinter of wood stopped the hole.
“Now the gas,” he whispered. This he knew would be most dangerous of all. Cans have a way of gurgling and popping in an alarming manner. The gurgle, he concluded, would not matter. It would not be heard above the roar of the wind and the wash of the sea. But the tinny bangs? Ah, well, he’d have to risk it.