Those on the sharpie may have been extremely reckless in thus spreading their canvas to the favoring wind before the fog had lifted enough to allow a decent lookout, but they had some thought for their own safety, however little they cared for that of others.

Hearing the clamor dead ahead, the fellow at the tiller managed to suddenly shift the course of the advancing boat, and just in time.  They swept past the Jessamine with hardly a yard to spare.

The staring and shivering boys caught a glimpse of several rough men on board the passing sharpie, and what they thought was a girl’s head thrust out of the cabin.

Some loud and vigorous language was carried back to the ears of the chums as the fleeing sharpie vanished once more in the fog wreaths.

“Talk to me about that!” exclaimed Jerry indignantly.  “They nearly run us down through their own carelessness, and then revile us for getting in the way!”

“Some people never believe there can be two sides to any question.  They are always in the right,” commented Frank.

He showed little signs of any excitement; yet, did his chums but know it, there was much of thanksgiving in his heart over the narrow escape.

Once again he and Jerry set to work at the stubborn motor, while the others endeavored to keep a sharp lookout.  Will, in particular, was holding his head cocked on one side, as though eager to catch the first faint sound of any advancing vessel from windward.

From time to time Bluff amused himself in making dreadful noises with the conch-shell horn, for one has to learn how to sound this before being able to send a ringing blast that can be heard an almost incredible distance.

“Anyhow, the fog’s getting thinner all the while,” remarked Will joyfully.

“That’s a fact,” said Frank, glancing up from his work.

A minute later there was a whirr.

“Hurrah!  She works!” shouted Jerry.

“Thank goodness!  Then we’re saved!” echoed Will.

“Get up your anchor, Bluff,” remarked Frank quietly.

This Bluff did with cheerful alacrity, and immediately the little motor-boat began to churn the water with her accustomed zeal.

“How long had we been sitting there?” asked Jerry.

“Just two hours,” was Frank’s reply as he consulted his little nickel watch.

“And now what?” demanded Will.

“We’ll move in toward the shore somewhat, and wait for the fog to sweep away.  When that happens perhaps we can get our bearings, and find out whether we’ve passed our first intended refuge or not,” returned Frank.

“But you think we have?” queried Bluff.

“Yes; and consequently, as we don’t want to turn around and go back, we might as well head for the second harbor.”

“What sort of a place is that?” asked Bluff, always seeking information.

“As near as I can make out from the chart, it is a lagoon formed by a long island that stands as a shelter between the open gulf and the shore.  There are many such along the gulf coast, and small vessels are in the habit of running behind them when the weather outside gets stormy.”