“There was half an hour ago, and we can’t have used up all in the tank yet. Besides, we’ve got a barrel in reserve.”
“I’ll put some in, anyhow!” cried Joe. But, when this was done, the motor still refused to go, and they were being carried by the current nearer and nearer to the dangerous place.
“Let me try,” suggested Mr. Ringold. “Here, you boys steer, though you can’t really do much without power to give us more headway than we’ve got.”
Again and again he spun the wheel, but it seemed of no use. The motor remained dead. Then, as Mr. Piper came up to see if he could lend any aid, he saw a small dangling wire, that no one appeared to have noticed, or attended to.
“Is that the trouble?” he asked. “That loose wire?”
“That’s it—the ignition!” cried Mr. Ringold. “I’ll have it fixed in a jiffy now. Though I don’t know as we can make it,” he added, as he noticed how near they were to the treacherous “cut-off.”
But he was not one to give up easily, nor were his companions. The broken wire was hastily joined, and then, with the electric current in proper shape, when the flywheel was spun again, the motor responded with a welcome roar and throb.
“Now see if we can make it!” cried Mr. Ringold, as he took the wheel. “It’s a bare chance!”
It was, and how slender the boys did not realize until later. The powerful current pulled and tugged at them, to force them off the course, and into a branch of the stream that ended in a dismal swamp.
But the Clytie was a stanch craft, and was in good hands. Slowly but surely she fought her way against the cross-current, pulling away from danger.