Matt, dizzy and weak, pawed and floundered toward the bulkhead.
Overhead the roof was all in flames. Any moment it might fall bodily, sinking the Sprite and those aboard her under the water of the well—holding them like rats in a blazing trap.
Matt's eyes were of no use to him. They were smarting from the smoke and heat. But he did not need his eyes. He knew the place of every lever on the bulkhead.
A pull started the gasoline, another started the oil, and another switched on the spark. A third lever was connected with the starting device. Two pulls at this and the boat took the push of the propeller.
Boom!
The fire had found the gasoline supply, and shafts of lighter fire shot through the yellower blaze of burning wood.
There was no time to unlock the water door. Already the fire-eaten wreck was swaying.
The Sprite, urged by the automobile engine, must ram the door and break it down.
Grabbing his companion, Matt dragged him down under the protection of the bulkhead, while the Sprite flung herself toward the door, toward the cove—and toward safety.