mile was covered, and then the wind began to send the flying spray in every direction and filled the row-boat’s bottom with water.
“Wet again!” laughed Jerry, grimly. “Never mind.”
“Blumpo, you had better bail out the boat,” said Harry. He was as wet as the rest, but did not grumble.
While the homeless youth bailed out the water with a dipper they had brought along, Jerry and Harry pulled at the oars with all their remaining strength. Another mile was passed. But now it was blowing a regular hurricane and no mistake.
“We’ll go to the bottom, suah!” groaned Blumpo dismally.
“Not much!” shouted Jerry. “Keep on bailing.” “Look! look!” yelled Harry at that moment, and pointed over to the centre of the lake.
There, beating up in the teeth of the wind in the most hap-hazard manner, was the Cutwater. Evidently Clarence Conant was nearly paralyzed with fear, for he had almost lost control of the craft.
“Those ladies on board are worse off than we,” went on Harry.
“That’s so,” replied Jerry.
But the words were hardly out of his mouth when there came an extra puff of wind. It sent the Cutwater almost over on her side, and threw a monstrous wave into the row-boat.
The smaller craft could not stand the wind and waves, and with a lurch, she sank down and went over, dumping all three of the youths into the angry lake.
CHAPTER IV.
SAVING THE SLOOP
It was no pleasant position to be in. The three lads had been cast so suddenly into the angry waters that for the moment they could not comprehend the situation.
Then Blumpo let out a yell of terror.
“Save me! De boat has gone down!”
He was wrong, however, for a second later the row-boat bobbed up, less than four yards off.
“This way!” shouted Harry to his companions, but the wind fairly drowned his voice. He swam toward the upturned craft, and Blumpo and Jerry were not slow in following it.
Hardly had they reached it when a new peril confronted them. The Cutwater was bearing directly down upon them. With every sail set, she was in the very act of cutting them to pieces!
“Look! look!” yelled Harry. “We are doomed!”
“My gracious!” moaned Blumpo.
On and on came the sloop, with gigantic bounds over the whitecaps. Clarence Conant seemed utterly powerless to stay her course, or steer her to the right or left.
The young ladies on board with him huddled in a heap near the tiny cabin, their faces white with terror.
It was truly a thrilling moment.
Of the entire crowd Jerry was the only one to keep perfectly cool.
He was astride the row-boat, directly in the centre of the bottom, and it seemed as if the prow of the Cutwater must strike him in a second more.
“Every one dive under!” he called out, and went overboard like a flash.
For a wonder Harry and Blumpo promptly followed suit.
Crash!
The row-boat was struck and stove in completely.
The Cutwater was quite a good sized craft, and though the force of the collision did not damage her to any extent, it checked her progress considerably.
Jerry went down and down. He made a long dive, and when he came up it was within a yard of the sloop’s rudder.
Before another boy would have had time to think, the boy who so loved the water made up his mind what to do. He made a mighty leap and caught hold of the rudder end ere the Cutwater could get beyond his reach. It was hard work to hang on, as the sloop bobbed up and down with every wave, and the rudder, being beyond control, swayed from side to side.
But Jerry was both plucky and full of grit. He clung fast, and, watching his chance, climbed up to the stern and leaped on the deck.
A brief glance showed him the cause of the present trouble. Clarence Conant was actually too much frightened to lower the sails. He had started to act and got a rope twisted, and then, overcome with fear, had allowed the matter to go while he clung to the bow in despair.
“You confounded coward!” cried the young oarsman. “You ought to have known better than to go out on anything bigger than a duck pond.”
He sprang to the halyards, and soon the main-sail came down with a bang. The jib followed. There was no time to attend to the sails more than this.
Jerry looked around anxiously for Harry and Blumpo, but for a long while could see nothing of them.
“Look here,” demanded Clarence Conant, recovering his composure, now the greatest of the danger was over. “What – ah – do you mean by talking to me in this fashion?”
“I mean just what I say,” retorted Jerry. “You had no right to take these young ladies out and expose them to such peril.” “The – ah – hurricane took me by surprise,” was the dude’s lame excuse.
“I am very thankful to you, Jerry Upton,” cried Dora Vincent, the oldest and prettiest of the girls on board.
“And so am I.”
“And I.”
“Thank you,” replied the boy, blushing. “But now is no time to talk. Which of you will take the tiller, if I tell you exactly what to do?”
“I can – ah – take the tiller,” interposed Conant, haughtily.
“You won’t touch it!” cried the young oarsman, sternly.
“Why, boy, what do you mean? Do you – ah – ”
“Sit down! If you dare to stir I’ll pitch you overboard!”
Overcome with a new terror, the dude collapsed. He was hatless, the curl was out of his mustache and hair, and altogether he looked very much “washed out.”
He sank down near the bow, and it was well that he did so, for just then came an extra heavy blast of the gale.
“Hold hard, every one!” yelled Jerry. “Perhaps you ladies had better go into the cabin,” he added.
“I am to take the tiller, you know,” said Dora Vincent. “Well, then, let the others go. We can work along better with a clear deck.”
So while Dora went aft, the others crawled into the cabin, or cuddy. Under pretense of seeing after their comfort, Conant crawled after them.
“Now I will tell you just how to move the tiller,” said Jerry to Dora Vincent.
“All right, I am ready,” responded the brave girl.
Now that she had Jerry
