“Hold on, Andy! Hold on! You’ll float for a while yet!” called Frank, while he threw all his strength upon the oars in the endeavor to reach his brother. He cast anxious eyes about, fearing a return of the whale, but there was no sign of the big creature.

“All right—take your time!” called Andy. “I can keep afloat for quite a while yet. Maybe I won’t sink after all.”

“I’m not taking any chances,” returned Frank, and then he swung his craft up alongside that of his brother. As Andy had said, his skiff was in pretty good condition. This was due to two causes. The blow of the whale’s tail had been a glancing one, and the skiff had an unusually high freeboard, so that though it was splintered down to the water edge, not much of the sea had entered.

“I believe she’ll float when I’m out of it so she’ll ride higher,” declared the younger lad. “Take me into your boat, and maybe we can tow mine in and fix it up. It’s too good to lose.”

“That’s right. Wow! But you had a narrow escape!” and Frank looked very grave as he assisted his brother into the undamaged craft. “I thought it was all up with you.”

“So did I, when I saw that beast coming for me. But he sheered off just in time. Then I felt sure my boat would fill and sink in an instant, when I saw the water pouring in, after he swiped me, so I got ready to jump. I didn’t want to be carried down with it.”

“That’s right. Say, that’s cut through as clean as if done with a knife,” and Frank looked at the slash in the side of his brother’s boat. It was indeed a sharp cut, and showed with what awful force the tail of the monster must have descended.

“As much water came pouring in over the side as there did through the hole,” went on Andy. “That’s what gave me a scare. But did you see the harpoon in that whale?”

“No, was there one?”

“Sure as you’re a foot high. There was a short piece of line fast to it, and the whale had a big hole in his side. He’s been wounded, probably by a steamer’s propeller after he was harpooned up north, or else that’s the wound of a bomb gun. I could see it quite plainly.”

“Yes, you had a nearer view than I’d want,” observed Frank, as he made fast Andy’s boat to the stern of his own. As the younger lad had said, his skiff, now that it was higher in the water, because his weight was out of it, took in very little of the sea.

“I guess we can tow it if we bail out,” observed Frank. “Are you very wet?”

“Not much—only up to my knees. I was just going to jump in and swim for it when you called to me. Well, here goes for bailing.”

“Yes, and if you shift that anchor back to the stern it will raise the bow, and the hole will be so much more out of water. It’ll row easier, too.”

“Right you are, my hearty. Shiver my timbers! But it’s some excitement we’ve been having!” and Andy laughed.

“Say, I believe you’d joke if your boat was all smashed to pieces, and you were floating around on the back of the whale,” observed Frank gravely.

“Of course I would. A miss is as good as a mile and a half. But if I can find my other oar I’ll help you row in your boat. It ought to be somewhere around here,” and Andy ceased his bailing operations to cast anxious looks over the rolling waves.

“Yes, we’ll look for it after we get some of the water out of your craft. I can’t get over what a close call you had,” and, in spite of the fact that he had been in many dangerous places in his life, Frank could not repress a shudder.

“Oh, forget it!” good-naturedly advised Andy, vigorously tossing water out of his boat with a tin can. “Hello! There’s my lost oar out there. Put me over.”

“All right,” agreed Frank. “I think we’ve got enough water out so she’ll ride high. Now for the dock.”

“I guess you’ll win the race,” observed the younger lad, half regretfully, as he recovered his ashen blade.

“Oh, we’ll call it off,” said Frank good-naturedly. “We’ll have something to tell the folks when we get back to the cottage; eh?”

“I guess. But are you going right home?”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I thought we might row in, and take out our sail boat. I’d like to have another try for that whale. We might get him, and there’s money to be made.”

“Say, do you mean to tell me you’d take another chance with that whale?” demanded Frank, as he prepared to row.

“Of course I would! It would be safe enough in our catboat. He’d never attack that. We could take our rifles along and maybe plug him. Think of hunting for whales! Cricky! That would be sport!” and Andy sighed regretfully. He seemed to have forgotten the narrow escape he had just experienced. “Come on, let’s do it, Frank,” he urged. “Don’t go up to our cottage at all. If you do mother will be sure to see me all wet. Then she’ll want to know how it happened, and the whale will be out of the bag, and we can’t go. Let’s start right out in the Gull as soon as we hit the pier. There won’t be any danger, and we might sight the whale. He must be nearly dead by this time.”

“I wonder if we could find him,” mused Frank.

“Sure!” exclaimed his impulsive brother. “It will be great. There’s some grub aboard the Gull and we can stay out until nearly dark. Mother doesn’t expect us home to dinner, as we said we might go to Seabright. Come on!”

“Well, if you feel able, after—”

“Pshaw! I’m as fit as a fiddle. Let’s hit it up, and get to the dock as soon as we can. Think of landing a whale!”

“Or of being lambasted by one,” added Frank grimly. Nevertheless, he fell in with his brother’s plan, as he usually did. The two boys rowed steadily toward the pier, towing the damaged boat. They were very much in earnest.

In fact, though of different characters, the brothers were very much alike in one trait—they always liked to be doing things. Their name fitted them to perfection; they were “Racers” by title and nature, though Andy was the quicker and more impulsive.

They were the sons of Mr. Richard Racer, a wealthy wholesale silk merchant of New York City. Mr. Racer owned a neat cottage at Harbor View, and his summers were spent there. His wife, Olivia, was a lady fond of society, and when she closed her handsome house in New York, to go to the coast resort for the summer, she transferred her activities there.

While in the metropolis Mrs. Racer spent much time at charitable organizations, and at Harbor View she was a moving spirit in the ladies’ tennis and golf clubs.

Mr. Racer traveled back and forth from New York to Harbor View each day during the summer, for his business needed much of his attention. His vacation, however, was an unbroken series of days of pleasure at the coast resort where he and his wife and sons enjoyed life to the utmost.

The two boys had spent so many summers at Harbor View that they were almost as well known there as some of the permanent residents, and they had many friends among the seafaring folk, especially in the lads. They had one or two enemies, as will develop presently, not through any fault of their own, but because certain lads were jealous of our heroes.

“Well, we’re here,” announced Frank at last, as he swung the boat up alongside the landing stage which rose and fell with the tide.

“And it’s a good wind coming up,” observed Andy. “We can make good time out in the Gull.”

“Maybe we’d better beach your boat before we go out, and pull it above high-water mark,” suggested Frank. “Some of the seams may have been opened, as well as this hole being in her, and she might sink.”

“Good idea. We’ll do it.”

As the brothers were ascending the gangway from the float to the pier, preparatory to going out in their sailing craft, they were hailed by an elderly man, whose grizzled, tanned face gave evidence of many days spent on the water under a hot sun.

“Where you boys bound fer now?” the sailor demanded.

“Oh, we’re just going out for a little sail, Captain Trent,” replied Andy.

“Better not,” was the quick advice.

“Why?” Frank wanted to know.

“It’s coming on to blow, and it’s going to blow hard. Hear that wind?” and the captain, whose son Bob was quite a chum of the Racer boys, inclined his grizzled head toward the quarter whence the breeze came.

“Oh, that’s only a cat’s paw,” declared Andy.

“You’ll find it’ll turn out to be a reg’lar tomcat ’fore you’re through with it,” predicted the old salt. “But what happened to your boat, Andy? I see you’ve got a hole stove in her. Did you run on the rocks?”

“No, something ran into us,” replied Frank quickly. “Don’t say anything to him about the whale,” he remarked to his brother in a low voice.

“What’s that about a sail?” demanded the captain, catching some of Frank’s words.

“We’re going for a sail,” spoke Andy quickly. “Come on, Frank.”

“Better not!” again cautioned Captain Trent. But our heroes were no different from other boys, and did not heed the warning. Had they done so perhaps this story would not have been written, for the events following their sail that day were unusual, and had a far-reaching effect.

“Come on!” called Andy sharply to his brother, as he saw the captain making ready to start a discussion about the weather. Mr. Trent might also ask more questions about the damaged boat, and neither Andy nor his brother wanted to answer—just yet.

Five minutes later saw the two brothers sailing away from the pier. The breeze was getting stronger every moment, until the rail of their trim boat was under water part of the time.

“Say, it is blowing!” declared Frank.

“Oh, what of it? The Gull can stand more than this. Besides we’re safe in the harbor, and we may soon sight the whale. Keep a good lookout!”

For some time they sailed on, each one scanning the expanse of the bay, which was now dotted here and there with whitecaps. The boat was heeling over almost too much for comfort.

“Hadn’t we better turn back?” asked Frank, after a period of silence, broken only by the swish of the water.

“Of course not,” declared the more daring Andy. “It was about here that my boat was stove in. The whale may be around these diggings looking for us.”

“Likely—not!” exclaimed Frank decidedly.

There came a fiercer gust of wind, and it fairly howled through the rigging. The waters whitened with spray and foam.

“It’s a squall!” yelled Frank. “Better turn back.”

“We can’t now,” shouted Andy at the top of his voice, to make himself heard above the howling of the wind. “We’d better keep on to Seabright. We can lay over there until this blows by. See anything of the whale?”

“No. It’s useless to look for him. I’m going to take a reef in the sail.”

“That’s right. I guess you’d better shorten some of our canvas. I’ll hold her as steady as I can while you’re doing it. Or shall I lash the helm and help you?”

“No, you stay there. I can manage it.”

The storm increased in sudden fury, and it was no easy task to shorten sail with the pressure of the wind on it. But Frank Racer had considerable skill in handling boats, and with his brother at the helm, to ease off when he gave the word, he managed to cast off the throat and peak lines, lower the gaff and sail, and then take a double reef in the canvas.

Even under the smaller spread the Gull shot along over the foam-crested waves like some speeding motor boat. Andy was so taken up with watching his brother, and in aiding him as much as he could by shifting the helm as was needful, that he did not look ahead for several minutes. He was recalled to this necessary duty by a sudden, frightened cry from Frank.

“The rocks! Look out for the rocks!” shouted the older lad. “We’ll be on ’em in a second! Port your helm! Port!”

Andy desperately threw over the tiller, and with fear-blanched face he looked to where his brother pointed. Amid a smother of white foam, almost dead ahead and scarcely two cable lengths away there showed the black and jagged points of rocks, known locally as the “Shark’s Teeth.” The Gull was headed straight for them.

Anxiously, and with strained eyes, the brothers looked to see if their boat would answer her rudder. For a moment or two she hung in the balance, the howling wind driving her nearer the rocks, to strike upon which meant sure destruction in the now boiling sea.

Then, with a feeling of relief, Andy saw that they were sheering off, but very slowly. Could they make it? They were near to death, for no one—not even the strongest swimmer—could live long unaided in that boiling sea that would pound him upon the sharp rocks.

Suddenly Frank uttered a cry, and pointed to a spot at the left of the rocks, in a space of water comparatively calm.

“There! Look! Look!” he shouted.

“What is it? The whale?” demanded Andy.

“No, a boat—a motor boat! It’s disabled—drifting! It must have been on the rocks. It’s a large one, too. Look out you don’t hit it.”

“It’s on fire!” cried Andy. “See the smoke—the flame! It’s burning up!”

The Gull was now far enough from the Shark’s Teeth to warrant her safety, and the boys could look at the motor craft, that was bobbing helplessly about in the spume and spray, being tossed hither and thither by the heaving waves.

“See anybody on her?” yelled Andy.

“No—not a soul,” answered Frank, who had made his way forward, and was standing up, clinging to the mast.

Suddenly, amid the howling of the storm, there came a sharp explosion. There was a puff of flame, and a cloud of smoke hovered over the hapless motor boat, which, strange to say, still remained intact and afloat.

“She’s blown up! Exploded!” yelled Andy.

“Yes, and there’s a boy in the water! Look!” fairly screamed Frank. “He was on the boat! The explosion must have blown him out! He’s floating! We must save him, Andy!”

“Sure! Jupiter’s lobsters! but things are happening to us to-day! Look out! I’m going to put about!”

Frank scrambled back to join his brother. The big boom with its shortened sail swung over, and, heeling under the force of the shrieking wind, the Gull darted toward the dangerous rocks once more. Toward the wrecked motorboat, toward the figure of the boy floating in the smother of foaming and storm-torn waves she swept.

Could they reach the helpless lad in time? It was the question uppermost in the hearts of Frank and Andy Racer.