There was no sail in sight, and no smoke.
"We're south of Great Bahama, Matt," said Ferral, "and this wind will help us in that direction. Why not change our course? The Great Bahama is a large island, and we can find it quicker than we can Turtle Key."
"I was about to suggest that," answered Matt, "and was waiting only to hear whether or not there was a ship anywhere in this vicinity."
Shifting the rudder, he put the Hawk on her new course. The wind not only hastened the craft onward, but also helped to buoy her up, just as the current of a stream helps to float a swimmer.
"Where is the leak?" went on Ferral, drawing a hand across his eyes and trying to realize what the escape of the gas meant for them.
Matt's announcement had chilled and dazed him.
"It's in the very worst place it could be," said Matt, "and that's on top of the bag. The gas is rushing out and is constantly making the hole larger. See how those wrinkles are gathering on the under side!"
Dick passed his eyes over the bag.
"What caused the leak? Have you any notion, Matt?"
"It must have been the branches of that tree we struck against when we started."