CHAPTER V
THE WRECK OF THE YACHT
Hike was seated by the Hustle one windy afternoon, finishing rewinding the fastening of a small interior strut, or prop, when Poodle came rushing up, returning from town.
“Hike,” he cried, “there’s a yacht going to pieces down the coast. Belongs to a rich guy that lives at Pacific Grove. She’s sending out an S.O.S. by wireless. The Presidio wireless caught it. Her operator says she ran onto a ledge down near Sur—how far is that? About twenty miles down the coast? There’s big swells after that storm yesterday, and they can’t launch a boat. Besides, the yacht’s stuck on a long slippery ledge that’s hard to land on.”
“Where’s the revenue cutter?” asked Hike.
“Gone north.”
“Well,” said Hike, very calmly, “well, looks to me as if we’d have to save ’em—folks on yacht.”
“Us? How?” Poodle looked disturbed.
“Haven’t we got the best aeroplane in the world right here? I guess swells won’t bother the Hustle much.”
“Us—alone in an aeroplane?” wailed Poodle. “And me never been up in one any time? Jiminy, you ain’t serious, are you, Hike?”
Hike looked so quiet that Poodle, much confused at the prospect, knew he was serious. Hike had already started filling the Hustle’s fuel tank with gasoline, after finishing the strut-fastening while he was talking.