“They’re certainly getting some speed out of her,” called Wink admiringly.  The rest of the company had returned to the bridge and were watching eagerly.  Tom Corwin, who had remained unaffected by the potting of the Follow Me’s hull, was fighting mad now because the thieves had lost the bow anchor, and sputtered wrathfully as he gazed over Steve’s shoulder.  “If I was Harry I’d put a bullet through that door,” he muttered.  “I wish someone would let me have a shot at them!”

“You couldn’t hit her at this distance, with the boats swinging,” said Steve.  “Wonder why it doesn’t occur to them to cut away that tender.  It’s taking a mile off their speed.”

“Afraid of getting hit, I guess,” replied Joe.

“It doesn’t seem to me that we’re gaining very fast.”

“We’re not, but we’re gaining fast enough.  Hello!” The Follow Me, having approached the end of the island, had turned her nose to port straight for the end of the beach.  “How much does she draw, Tom?”

“Two feet and a half; same as this.”

“And the chart shows two feet of water there at low tide!” exclaimed Steve.  “And it’s nearly dead low now, I guess.  She’s taking a chance, all right!”

The channel ran straight ahead, close to the shore of the mainland, and if the Follow Me’s exploit proved successful she was due to increase her dwindling lead by a good mile unless the Adventurer accepted the challenge and followed her example.  For a minute Steve hesitated.  Then:  “If she can do it, we can,” he muttered, and slowly turned the wheel, his eyes darting to the chart.  “No depth shown here,” he said.  “Two feet further along.  Then four and seven.  If we can get to the point of sand there we’re all right.”

They watched the Follow Me breathlessly.  She was dancing almost in the breakers now and for a long moment it seemed that she would surely pile herself on the spit that ran seaward from the end of the island.  But she got by safely and the Adventurer plunged after her.  There were strained faces on the bridge deck then and Ossie was seen to lay a tentative hand on the cushion of the nearer seat.  Steve, with grim countenance, kept his eyes on the rollers, trying his best to follow in the wake of the other boat.  Here and there white water hinted at shoals and it was between two of these that the Follow Me had gone.  Steve eased the wheel and slowed the engine a trifle and the Adventurer, rocking in the long swells that were breaking on the beach hardly more than a stone-throw to port, went on.  Steve was in the act of breathing a long sigh of relief when there came a jar that threw several of the boys off their balance and brought cries of consternation to their lips.  For one horrid moment the Adventurer hung with her propeller churning the sand, and then shook herself free and lunged forward again.

Shouts of relief went up and a smile of triumph came to Steve’s face as he pulled her back into the course and slipped into deeper water.  The Follow Me was still a good eighth of a mile ahead and swinging northward around the curve of beach.  “They’re going to make for Newburyport,” said Steve.  “Watch them try to get me into trouble now, Joe.”