me out on the feather. Admiringly, almost enviously, Percy watched the
play of the banded muscles on his brawny forearms. He would have given
anything to be as strong as his dory-mate.

Past five o'clock, and still over two miles to the island. It was
growing rougher every minute. The gale had fairly begun. It sheared the
crests off the racing billows and flung them over the boat in showers of
spray. Now and then a bucketful came aboard. It kept Percy busy bailing.

Occasionally Jim brought the dory head to the wind and lay on his oars
to rest. After all, human muscles, powerful as they may be, are not
steel and india-rubber.

"Pretty rough, isn't it?" said he, at one of these intervals. "Seasick,
old man? You look a little white around the gills."

Percy shook his head. The situation was too serious for seasickness. In
spite of the jocularity of his words, Jim's voice sounded hollow. Both
of them knew that it meant a hard fight to reach Tarpaulin.

Silence, gray and leaden as the misty sky, settled over the dory.
Spurling was throwing all the strength he possessed into every stroke;
Percy bailed continuously. It took considerably more than an hour to
make the next mile and a half. A rainy haze, driving down from the
north, had shrouded the island, and Brimstone Point was barely visible.

Jim's strokes were slower; they lacked their earlier force. His face
showed the strain of the last hour. Uneasily Percy noted these signs of
weariness.

"Tired, Jim?"

"Yes."

The brief monosyllable struck Percy with dismay. If Spurling's strength
should give out, what would happen to the dory?

"Don't you want me to row awhile?"

"You can take her for a few minutes."

Scrambling forward, Percy grasped the oars and took Jim's place on the
thwart. The latter lay down flat on his back in the bottom of the dory.
Apparently he was not far from complete exhaustion.

"Keep her up into the wind as well as you can," he directed.

Percy did his best; but he found it a hard job. The gale, now far
stronger than the tide that flowed against it under the surface, was
forcing them steadily southward. Brimstone Point could just be seen, a
half-mile to the northeast.

Though he pulled his heart out, Percy could tell that he was losing
ground, or rather water, every second. The wind mocked his efforts. He
could not keep the boat on her course. Big rollers swashed against the
port bow and broke aboard. Jim raised a drenched face, hagga