“Where away?” cried Kenneth.
“A little off the port bow. No, it’s gone!”
All three boys strained their eyes to catch a glimpse of the will-o’-the wisp.
“There it is!”
“Where?”
“No, it’s gone!”
The wind beat the spray into their faces and snatched at their clothing.
“There it is, sure!” Kenneth spoke exultingly. “It’s Tawas Light—at least, it ought to be there.”
On a point of land like a crooked finger, the boys saw plainly, when the yacht rose to the top of a wave, the steady, clear gleam of the yellow flame.
Like a tired bird, the “Gazelle” crept inside the shelter and anchored; her crew lowered the sails and dropped into their bunks. Utterly exhausted, they fell asleep instantly, forgetting all troubles.