Don, maneuvering the Dragonfly up to as close proximity to the old dock as the safety of wings and propeller would allow, signaled to Chick and called for one more white flare.
Dropping the floating light into the water, to augment for them the illumination provided by the almost incessant flickers of lightning, Chick sprang up, and began to climb out on a brace and the wing-step at one side while Don balanced him on the other.
Expertly Don caught the rope end.
It was plainly to be seen that the storm would be down upon them before they could take off safely and get high enough to avoid the moiling currents of the stormy area. Bringing the ship as close to the dock as he could, by flinging a bight of the rope over a dock piling, Don let the wind drift its tail outward. Chick, on his side, clambered carefully forward across the lower wing until he could fling his part of the rope over another wooden upright.
Quickly, but carefully, they worked the ship around so that it was sheltered somewhat by the dock planking and to the leeward of the old house.
By climbing out to the wingtip, gingerly so as not to injure the fabric and with each movement setting his weight on the supporting framework, Chick, his terrors forgotten in action, held a flying wire with one hand, bent far outward, and managed to get his fingers over the gunwale of a dory tied under the wharf.
He drew against the pull of the wind until he could get the dory and the low wingtip close enough together to enable him to step across.
Swiftly he untied the painter of the boat while Garry aided Don to use every available inch of their rope in securing the Dragonfly against the pull and thrust of wind, the tossing waves that must soon fling the ship to and fro.
Their tasks completed, Don and Garry, one on the wharf planks, the other balancing the light flying craft, waited until Chick could scull the dory close alongside the fuselage.
There he stepped back onto the wing bracing, steadying the dory as Garry and Don entered it.