For already the waves, smashing down upon the grounded wreck, were tearing it apart. She would soon break in two, and then the remaining rigging and spars would go by the board and with them the crew and passengers.
Yet Captain Abinadab Cope refused to give over his attempts to reach the wreck.
"Haul in!" he commanded gruffly, when the line fell short. Ruth marveled at the skill of the man who rewound the wet line on the pegs of the frame that held it. In less than five minutes the life savers were ready for another shot.
"You take it when the regular crew are at practice, sometimes," whispered Heavy, to Ruth, "and they work like lightning. They'll shoot the line and get a man ashore in the breeches buoy in less than two minutes. But this is hard work for these volunteers—and it means so much!"
Ruth felt as though a hand clutched at her heart. The unshed tears stung her eyes. If they should fail—if all this effort should go for naught! Suppose that unknown girl out there on the wreck should be washed ashore in the morning, pallid and dead.
The thought almost overwhelmed the girl from the Red Mill. As the gun barked a second time and the shot and line hurtled seaward, Ruth Fielding's pale lips uttered a whispered prayer.
