The wind caught them, nearly dashing them into the sea. The line tangled with the braces, but Johnny managed to drag it free.
“Now, now—right over!” shouted Johnny. The next moment he sent the wood-weighted end of the cord whirling toward the ship. The line burned his fingers, but he clung to it as it played out.
It was a fortunate cast; almost a miracle, was Johnny’s mental comment, for at once he felt a tug on the cord such as mere water could not give, and that instant he let go.
“Can’t help but find it,” he told Pant through the tube. “Back to the island now. It’ll take all of us to draw their line in.”
It was a difficult landing. The beach was narrow and none too long; the waves washing it from end to end. Three times they soared low, but did not dare attempt it. The fourth time, driving straight against the wind, they sank lower and lower, at last to feel the welcome bump-bump on the sand. The next moment they were out of the plane and guying her fast.
“Made it!” was Johnny’s brief comment, as they finished. “Now for that line.”
Pant did not follow at once; he was looking intently out to sea, where a light was blinking, brightening, then dimming, then lighting up again.
“Get that?” he shouted to Johnny.
“What?”
“It’s a signal. The message they sent says, ‘Haul away!’”