The engine gave a grunt and stopped. But Bill scarcely noticed it. Hauling desperately to get Dorothy inboard, he thought his heart would burst. Suddenly he heard her cry:

“Don’t pull! Just hold me by my legs.”

She squirmed farther across the coaming and he gripped her by the knees.

“That’s it,” she panted. “There—I’ve got it! Now haul me in.”

Bill gave a heave and just then the boat, caught by a huge wave, rolled far over and landed Bill on his back with Dorothy sprawled across him. As they struggled to their feet he saw that she was laughing.

“Aren’t you hurt at all?” he asked, rubbing a bruised elbow.

“Only—out of—breath,” she gasped. “They—are all—fastened together. Haul them in.”

Glancing down, he saw that she was holding one of the white boxes toward him. He made no motion to take it, but stared to windward, listening.

Dorothy could hear nothing but the wind and the waves and the swirling sleet.

“What is it?” she jerked out, striving to regain her breath.

“Wait a minute.” Suddenly Bill snatched up his electric torch and dove into the cabin.

Dorothy dropped down on a thwart with the box in her hand. After a short rest, she renewed her endeavors to get the remainder of her haul overside. When Bill clambered out of the cabin she was tugging at the strong line to which the boxes were tied.

“It’s jammed, or caught, or something,” she announced.

Bill looked overside.

“Yes, dash it all!” he growled. “We fouled the line and wound it round the tail shaft when I backed off just now. That’s what stopped the motor, of course. Let me see what I can do. You’re blown.”

He picked up another box bobbing alongside and started to haul in the line. One end of this he found was jammed under the stern, while on the other length a box appeared every thirty or forty feet.

“Ten, in all,” he told her and drew the last aboard.

“Hooray! We’ve done it!” cried Dorothy exultantly.

“We sure have. You just said it all—” His tone was sarcastic. “The boat is leaking like a sieve. That lateral wrench started it. The propeller’s jammed. It’s beginning to blow a gale and there isn’t enough gas to run us out of it. Three cheers and a tiger! Also, hooray!”

Dorothy’s enthusiasm evaporated. “Gee, I’m sorry. I’m always such a blooming optimist—I didn’t think about our real difficulties.”

“O. K. kid. I apologize for being cross. That water in the cabin kind of got me for the moment. Let’s see what it looks like here.”

He wrenched up the flooring and flashed his torch.

Dorothy gave a gasp of dismay. The boat was filling rapidly.

“I’ll get that bucket from the cabin,” she said at once.

“Good girl! I’ve just got to get this coffee mill grinding again, or we’ll be out of luck good and plenty.”

Dorothy fetched the bucket and began to bail. She saw that Bill was trying to start the engine.

“The shaft wound up that line while we were going astern,” he explained. “It ought to unreel if I can send the old tub ahead.”

Switching on the current, he managed to get a revolution or two. Then the motor stopped firing.

“No go?” inquired Dorothy.

“Not a chance!”

He ripped off his life preserver and slipping out of his rubber coat, pulled forth a jack-knife and opened it.

“What are you going to do?” Dorothy paused in her bailing.

“Get overboard and try to cut us loose. Don’t stop! Keep at it for all you’re worth. It’s our only chance of safety!”

Wielding her bucket in feverish haste, she watched Bill lower himself over the stern. The water pounded by this unseasonable sleet must be freezingly cold. She wished it were possible to help him. Fortunately, the Mary Jane was light of draft. He would not have to get his head under, but that tough line must be twisted and plaited and hard as wire. What if his knife broke, or slipped from his numbed fingers? Dorothy shuddered. Meanwhile, the storm was getting worse and the heavy boat drifted before it.

“Hey, there, Dorothy! Give me a hand up!”

She dropped the bucket and sprang to his assistance. Then, as his head came in sight, she leaned over and gripping him under the arms, swung him over the stern.

“My word—your strength’s inhuman—” he panted.

“Don’t talk nonsense. Get busy and start the engine. The water’s gaining fast.”

“Confound!” he exclaimed. “I’d no idea the cockpit flooring was awash. Another six inches and it will reach the carburetor.”

While Bill talked he was priming the cylinder. A heave of the crank and the motor started with a roar. Then he flashed his light on the compass and after noting the bearing of the wind, laid the Mary Jane abeam it.

“Take the wheel,” he said to Dorothy. “And steer just as we’re heading now.”

“What about the bailing, Bill?”

“My job. You’ve had enough of it.”

“But I’m not tired—”

“Don’t argue with the skipper!”

“But you’re soaked to the skin!”

“Of course I am—what I need is exercise—I’m freezing!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry—here—turn over the wheel, skipper.”

Dorothy grabbed the spokes and Bill hastily slipped into his rubber coat and adjusted the life belt over it.

“How are we headed?” she inquired. “I can’t see the compass without a light.”

“Straight for shore, and we’ll be lucky if the old tub stays afloat that long. The whole Atlantic Ocean’s pouring in through her seams.”

“Maybe the pump would be better?”

“No-sir: not that pump. I’ve seen it!”

“Mmm. That’s why I chose the bucket. Say, I hope you won’t get a chill.”

“I’ll hope with you,” returned Bill and kept his remaining breath for his labors.

A heavy wave broke against the Mary Jane’s bow and swept them both with a deluge of water. Dorothy paid off the boat’s head half a point.

“Lucky that didn’t stall the motor for good and all,” she observed grimly. “One more like it, and we’ll be swimming.”

“Tide’s on the ebb,” grunted Bill. “Wind’s barking around—it’ll be blowing off the land in half an hour, I guess.”

“Do you think the old tub will last that long? She’s getting terribly sluggish. Steers like a truck in a swamp!”

“Listen!” he cried. “There’s your answer.”

From somewhere ahead came the unmistakable booming roar of breakers. As they topped the next wave Dorothy saw a white band on the sea. She steadied the wheel with her knee and tightened her life preserver. She knew they could not hope to reach the beach in the Mary Jane. Low and open as she was, the first line of breakers would fill her. The motor was still pounding away when she leaned forward and raised her voice to a shout.

“Stop bailing, Bill! Stand by to swim for it!”

“O. K., kid.”

Bill dropped the bucket and dove for the cabin. A second later he was back in the cockpit with a three fathom length which he had cut from the anchor line. He fastened one end about Dorothy’s waist and took a turn about his own body with the other. Then, catching up a bight of the line which secured the boxes he made it fast to his belt with a slip hitch.

The Mary Jane was forging strongly ahead, her actual weight of water being about that of her customary load of passengers. The swells began to mount, to topple. Searching the shore, Dorothy could see no sign of any light or habitation.

“If I’d known we were so nearly in, we might have raised the coast guard with the flash light.” Bill groaned his self-contempt. “I ought to have kept an eye out—and the Navy said I was a seaman!”

“Don’t be silly! It was my fault, if anyone’s. You were busy bailing. Chances are the light couldn’t have been seen from shore, anyway. Gosh, what weather! Who ever heard of sleet in August!”

“Look out—behind you!” yelled Bill.

A moment later she felt herself snatched from the wheel and was crouching below the bulwark with Bill’s arm around her waist. Then as a brimming swell lifted them sluggishly, its combing crest washed into the boat. The next wave flung them forward and crumpled over the gunwale.

The Mary Jane’s motor gave a strangled cough and stopped. The boat yawed off and came broadside on her stern upon a line with the beach.

“This is what I hoped for,” he shouted in her ear. “Gives us a chance to get clear.”

She saw him gather up the boxes and fling them overboard.

“Keep close to me. We’ll need each other in the undertow!” she yelled back at him, as he pulled her to her feet.

Then as the next big comber mounted and curled, they dove into the driving water and the wave crashed down upon the sinking boat. Dorothy felt her body being whirled over and over, sucked back a little and driven ahead again. The water was paralyzingly cold, but she struck out strongly and with bursting lungs reached the surface. A second later, Bill’s head bobbed up a couple of yards away. Blowing the water from her nose, she saw they were being washed shoreward. Her life preserver, new and buoyant, floated her well—almost too well. She found it difficult to dive beneath the curling wavecrests to prevent another rolling.

Bill was swimming beside her now and as a great wave caught them up and carried them forward he grasped her under the arm.

There came a last crumbling surge and the mighty swirl of water swept them up the beach and their feet struck bottom. Fortunately, the beach was not steep. The tide was nearly at the last of the ebb and there was but little undertow. Together they waded out and staggered up the shingle to sink down on the sand breathing heavily.

The boxes were washing back and forth at the water’s edge and Bill’s first act was to haul them in.

“Well, the government’s precious loot is safe,” he said grimly. “Are you able to walk?”

“I—I guess so.”

“Then, let’s get going. We’ll freeze if we don’t.”

He gathered up the boxes and looped them from his shoulders, rose to his feet and held out a hand. Dorothy took it, scrambled up and stood for a moment swaying unsteadily.

“The end of a perfect d-day—” she tried to grin, her teeth chattering with cold.

“I don’t think!” replied Bill unenthusiastically, and helped her to get rid of the heavy life belt.

“Know where we are?” she inquired when he had dropped the belts on the sand.

“Not precisely. But if we keep going we ought to strike a lifesaving station or something—come on.”

Dorothy groaned. “I suppose I must, but—gee whiz—I sure want to rest.”

Bill, who knew that physical exertion was absolutely necessary now, got his arm about her and they started unsteadily down the beach assisted by the gale at their backs.

They had walked about half a mile when he felt her weight begin to increase and her steps to lag. He stopped and peered into her face. As he did so, she sank to the sand at his feet. Bending over her, he was surprised to see that she was asleep—utterly exhausted.

The outlook was anything but pleasant. They had apparently struck upon a wild and desolate strip of sand—an island, he thought, cut off by inlets at either end and flanked by the maze of marshes in the lower reaches of Great South Bay. Without doubt they were marooned and to make matters worse, Bill knew he had just about reached the limit of his own strength.