on't seem to be sunk
yet, though. Maybe it was just a few floating boards washed adrift from
some vessel."

"What did you see, boys?" Arnold called out to his companions on deck.
"Did we hit something or did it hit us?"

"Looks to me as if we had run down a row boat and cut her right in two!"
declared Tom. "I was sure I saw the stern of a boat just sinking here on
the starboard side."

Jack reeled against the wheel, covering his face with his hands. Despite
his efforts a groan escaped him. Arnold sprang toward his chum and put
an arm about his shoulders with a friendly air.

"What's the matter, Jack? Are you hurt?" he asked solicitously.

"Only inside" replied Jack. "I'm sure I saw a man in a row boat loom up
out of the fog just before we struck. The shudder that ran through the
Fortuna told me only too plainly that we had hit something more than a
mere board or two. I can't bear to think that we've run down a man out
here in the Gulf! It's too bad!"

"Maybe it was only an empty boat, Jack," comforted Arnold. "Did you hear
anyone cry out or see anything of a man overboard?"

"No," was Jack's answer, "I didn't. I just felt that something was going
to happen and then we struck the boat. I guess it's all right and we'd
better get the Fortuna with her nose into it or we'll roll the engines
off their beds. This is surely a choppy sea!"

Suiting the action to the words Jack reached for the levers on the
switchboard just as Tom and Harry returned to the shelter of the pilot
house dripping from the sheets of spray that had come aboard while the
vessel lay rolling in the trough of the sea.

"Great Wiggling Pollywogs!" exclaimed Tom, "this is sure a nasty piece
of weather! I'm glad I'm on top and not sloshing around in the Gulf
right now. Bet that fellow in the boat is wet all right."

"Hark, Tom!" cautioned Harry. "You mustn't talk like that."

"I'm going back to finish my cooking," announced Arnold. "We'll all be
hungry enough to eat a raw dog. And speaking of dogs," he continued
pointing at the white bulldog still holding his position at the pilot
house window, "what's the matter with Rowdy?"

"Rowdy scents something he doesn't like," explained Tom.

"I wonder," began Jack and then without finishing his half begun
sentence he dashed madly from the pilot house and flung himself into the
bow of the yacht now gaining headway under the impetus of the engines.
Flat on deck he fell and crawling to the rail peered eage