B.J. was now so well satisfied with his live ballast that he began once more to sing and make a mad hullabaloo of pure enjoyment.  He finally grew careless, and forgot himself and the eternal alertness that is necessary for a good skipper.  Just one moment he let his mind wander, and that moment was enough.  The boat, without warning to either B.J. or Reddy, jibed!

Reddy, now more than ever astounded, suddenly found himself pitching forward in the air and slamming on the ice.  He slid along it for a hundred feet or more on his stomach, like a rocket with a wake of spray and slush for a tail.  Reddy was soaked as completely as if he had fallen into a bath-tub, and his face and hands were cut and bruised in the bargain.

But his feelings, his mental feelings, were hurt even worse than his flesh.

As for the reckless B.J., though he was not so badly bruised as his unfortunate and unwilling guest, he was to suffer a still greater torment.  He, too, was thrown from the boat into the slush; and by the time he had recovered himself the yacht was well away from the hope of capture.  But that wilful boat, the Greased Lightning, seemed unwilling to let off her tormentor so easily.

For the astounded B.J., glaring at her as she ran on riderless, saw her come upon some rough ice, and jolt and ditch her runner, and veer until she had actually made a half-circle, and was heading straight for him!

All this remarkable change took place in a very short space of time; but a large part of that small time was spent by B.J. in absolute amazement at the curious and vicious action of his boat.  Then, as the yacht began to bear down on him with increasing speed, he made a dash to get out of its path; but his feet slipped on the wet ice, and he could make no headway.

B.J. saw immediately that one of two things was very sure to happen; and he could not see how either of them would result in anything but terrible disaster to him.

For if he should stand still the runner-plank would strike him below the knee and break both his legs like straws; besides, when he was knocked over he was likely to be struck by the tiller-runner, which would finish him completely.

If, on the other hand, he tried to jump into the air and escape the runner, he stood a fine chance of being hit on the head by the boom, which would deal a blow like the guard of an express-engine.  Before these two sickening probabilities the boy paused motionless, helpless.

It was the choice of frying-pan or fire.

XIX

B.J. decided to take the chances of a battered skull rather than let both the windward runner and the tiller-runner have a slash at him.

He gathered himself for a dive into the air.

But, just as he was about to leap, a sudden gust of wind lifted the windward runner off the ice at least two feet.