istler--if we can. It's buoy or breaker, and mighty quick,
too!"

The dory's drift, if unchanged, would take her several yards west of the
steel can crowned with its red whistle-cage. Its warning blast set the
air vibrating, _Oo-oo-oo-ooh!_

Jim snatched out his knife and sprang forward.

"Oar in the scull-hole, Perce! Lively!"

Driving the point of his blade into the side of the bow, he dragged the
painter in until he reached the gasolene-can. Severing the rope with one
quick, strong slash, he scrambled aft and seized the oar.

"Stand by with that painter to jump for the buoy, when I put the bow
against it! Better take off your shoes first!"

Percy obeyed. In his stocking feet he would be less liable to slip on
the wet iron. Making a loose coil of the painter, he crouched in the
bow. Meanwhile Jim had turned the dory round and headed her north of the
whistler. A strong current was setting toward the shoal. It took all his
strength to scull against it.

Rapidly they neared the can. About eight feet in diameter at the
water-line, it tapered to two feet across its flat top, seven feet
above. From the circumference rose two iron bails, crossing each other
at right angles, several inches above the whistle, which stood two and
one-half feet high. A little to one side stuck up the small tube of the
intake valve. Round the buoy above the water-line were bolted four lugs,
or iron handles, by which the can could be hoisted on board the
lighthouse steamer.

As the steel cone sank the whistle bellowed resonantly. Down, down, till
the waves swept over its top. Then, slowly it began to rise. The
bellowing cut off, and the air rushed into the intake tube.

Percy watched it, fascinated. Jim's voice roused him to their peril.

"Look sharp! Be ready!"

Less than ten feet of wild black water lay between the madly leaping bow
and the buoy. Beyond it the shoal broke with an angry roar in a long
line of crumbling foam. Percy gathered his strength for the leap.

The distance lessened, foot by foot. Foot by foot the red-and-black cone
emerged, as if thrust up by a giant hand. Percy fastened his eyes on a
lug.

A grayback heaved the dory forward.

"Now!" screamed Jim.

Young Whittington sprang upon the bow thwart, painter end in his right
hand, and leaped for the lug. A second later the boat crashed against
the buoy.

His left hand caught the bent iron bar; his right missed it. His body
thudded against the riveted side, sl