CHAPTER XX
The Rocket
AFTER several hours of good behaviour the demon charged with dominion over powerboats rammed the nose of the lifeboat deep into the flank of a skulking shoal of viscid mud quite fifty feet from shore.
While the motor and the men were labouring, panting, struggling, and splashing in a vain effort to work the boat off the shoal, the gasoline gave out. With a gasp, a grunt, and a sigh, the motor fell dumb. The two men, likewise breathless, looked at one another stupidly, but found no words. …
"Why not wade ashore?" Rose suggested mildly from the place she had taken astern in order to lighten the bow. "It isn't so far—and what's one more wetting?"
"But there's no sense in Miss Trine wading," Barcus suggested; "we're web-footed as it is; and she's too tired."
"Well, what then?"
"We can carry her, can't we?"
After a toilsome progress Rose at length slipped
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