For a moment terror held the Racer boys motionless. The danger had come so suddenly that it deprived them of the power to think. Then came the reaction, and they were themselves once more.

“Quick! Throw your helm over! We can just make it!” yelled Frank. “I’ll attend to the sheet—you manage the tiller! Lively now!”

Andy needed no second command. He fairly threw himself at the helm, and with all his strength forced it hard over. The shortened sail rounded out with the pressure of the wind on it, and the Gull heeled over at dangerous angle. Under her keel came that ominous scraping sound that told of her passage over part of the Shark’s Teeth.

“It’s a submerged rock!” shouted Andy. “We may scrape over it!”

“Let’s hope so!” murmured Frank, as he looked hastily down at the unconscious form of the strange lad. Then he gave all his attention to the rope that controlled the end of the swinging boom.

With the same suddenness that it had come upon them, the danger was past. The Gull slid into deep water, and the hearts of the boys beat in glad relief. Rapidly the craft paid off until she was well away from the ugly black points that could be seen, now and then, rearing up amid a smother of foam.

“Round about and beat for home!” yelled Frank. “Whoever this fellow is, he needs a doctor right away. I hope the wind holds out.”

“Did you learn who he was?” asked Andy, as he gave his attention to putting the boat on the proper course.

“No. How could I? He was as weak as a cat when I got to him, but he had sense enough not to grab me. He knows how to swim all right, but something is the matter with his left arm.”

“Think it’s broken?”

“I don’t know. It’s a wonder he wasn’t killed when that boat blew up. He must have been hurt in some way, or he wouldn’t be unconscious.”

“Maybe it’s because he’s nearly drowned. He may be half full of water.”

“That’s so,” agreed Frank. “I’ll see what I can do for him while you steer. Make all you can on each tack.”

They were fast leaving behind them the wrecked motor boat which bobbed about on the waves. It was no longer on fire, and the brothers would liked to have towed it to the pier, but this was impossible in the storm.

Then, as his brother skillfully managed the sailboat, Frank once more bent over the unconscious form. He knew what to do in giving first aid to partly drowned persons, and lost no time in going through the motions designed to rid the lungs of water.

Frank did succeed in getting some fluid from the system of the stranger, but the lad still remained unconscious, with such a pale face, with tightly closed eyes, and showing such apparent weakness, that Andy remarked:

“I guess he’s done for, poor fellow!”

“I’m not so sure of that,” responded Frank. “He’s still breathing, and there’s a spark of life in him yet. We must get him to our house, and have a doctor right away. Oh! now’s the time I wish we had a motor boat!”

“We’re doing pretty well,” declared Andy. And indeed the Gull was skimming along at a rapid rate. She was quartering the wind, until a sudden lull in the gale came. They hung there for a moment or two, and the brothers looked anxiously at each other. Were they to be becalmed when it was so vitally necessary to get the stranger to a doctor immediately?

But once more the sail swelled out, and with joy the Racer boys noticed that the wind was now right astern and that they could run down to the dock on the wings of it, making an almost straight course.

“This is the stuff!” cried Frank, as he made a sort of pillow from some sail cloth for the sufferer’s head.

“It sure is. We’ll be there soon. You’d better get some of your clothes on before we land.”

Frank slipped on his garments over his wet underwear and trusted to the wind to dry him before reaching home.

“I wonder who he can be?” mused Andy. “He wears good clothes, and if he owns that wrecked motor boat he must have money, for it was a big one, and cost a lot.”

“It sure did. Well, we may find out who he is when he comes to, after the doctor has seen him. We’ll take him up to our house.”

“Of course. There’s no other place for him in Harbor View. We’ll be at the dock in five minutes more.”

The rest of the trip was quickly covered, and, a little later, the two brothers had run their craft right up to the float, made her fast and began lifting out the unconscious form of the lad they had saved.

“Avast there! What ye got?” cried the hearty voice of Captain Trent. “Is he dead? Who is he?” He peered down over the pier railing.

“We don’t know,” answered Frank to both questions. “He was in a motor boat—wrecked—it blew up—we saved him.”

“By Davy Jones! Ye don’t mean it! Wa’al, I’ll give you a hand.”

With the old salt’s aid the boy was soon lifted up to the pier. Then Frank asked:

“Where’s your horse and wagon, Captain? We can never carry him to our house without something like that. Where’s the wagon?”

“Bob jest got back from delivering clams in it. I’ll go clean it out—the hoss is hitched to it yet, an’—”

“Don’t bother to clean it!” interrupted Andy. “Just put some sail cloth in the bottom. It doesn’t matter if it’s dirty. Every second counts now. Get the wagon.”

“Right away!” cried the old sailor, who did a general clamming and fish business. He hurried off in the direction of his store and stable, impressed by the words and energetic actions of the Racer boys. “Hi there, Bob!” the captain called to his son, whom he saw approaching. “Bring Dolly an’ the rig here as quick as you can! Frank an’ Andy Racer went out an’ brought back a dead motor boat—leastways I mean a fellow that was nearly killed in one. Bring up the rig jest as she is! Lively!”

“Aye, aye!” answered Bob, seaman fashion.

A minute later a nondescript vehicle, drawn by a big but bony horse rattled up, driven by the captain’s son.

“What’s up?” asked Bob Trent of the lads, with whom he was quite friendly. “Who is he?”

“That’s what we’d like to know,” spoke Frank. “We may find out if he doesn’t die. We’ve no time to spare.”

They lifted the unconscious form into the wagon, on the bottom of which had been spread a number of old sails.

“I’ll drive,” said Bob briefly. “I can get more out of Dolly than most folks. You’ve got to do your best now, old girl,” he called to the horse. The animal pricked up her ears.

“I’ll ride in back and hold his head,” volunteered Frank. “Andy, you go telephone for Dr. Martin. Tell him to get to our house as soon as possible—explain why. Have him there by the time we arrive, if possible.”

“Right!” cried Andy sharply, and he raced off toward the nearest telephone, there being a few of the instruments in Harbor View.

“Wa’al, I’ll be jib-boomed!” exclaimed Captain Trent, as his son drove off, the horse making good time. “Them Racer boys is allers up to suthin’ or other.”

Bob spoke the truth when he said he could do better with Dolly than most drivers, for the steed started out at a fast pace, and kept it up until the rickety vehicle turned into the drive that led to the handsome cottage owned by Mr. Racer. Mrs. Racer hurried to the door as she heard the sound of wheels, and at the sight of Frank sitting in the wagon, holding the head of another lad in his lap, Mrs. Racer cried out:

“Oh, Frank! What has happened? Is—is it—Andy? Is he—is he—?” she could say no more, and began crying.

“It’s all right, mother!” shouted Frank heartily. “We rescued an unknown lad. Andy has gone to telephone for Dr. Martin. He ought to be here now. Tell Mary to get some hot water ready. We may need it. Lay out some blankets. Get a bed ready, mother.”

Frank issued his requests as if he had been used to saving drowned persons every day. His crisp words had the effect of restoring Mrs. Racer to her usual calmness.

“I’ll attend to everything,” she said. “Oh, the poor fellow! Bring him right in here. Can you and Bob lift him?”

“I think so,” answered the captain’s sturdy son.

“Oh, why doesn’t Dr. Martin come?” cried Mrs. Racer.

“That sounds like his auto now!” exclaimed Frank, as he and Bob carried the unknown lad into the house. “Yes,” he added a moment later, “here he comes.”

“And Andy’s with him,” added Bob. “The doctor must have picked him up on the way here.”

It was the work of but a few moments to get most of the unconscious youth’s clothes off and place him in bed. By that time the physician was ready to begin his ministrations.

“I don’t know,” mused Dr. Martin, as he felt of the feeble, flickering pulse, and listened to the scarcely audible breathing. “He’s pretty far gone. Hurt internally, I imagine. But we’ll see if we can save him.”

With the eager and able assistance of the Racer boys, their mother and Bob Trent, Dr. Martin labored hard to restore the lad to consciousness. At first his efforts seemed of no avail. His eyes remained closed, and the pulse and breathing seemed to grow more feeble.

“I think I’ll try the electric battery,” said the doctor finally. “If one of you will bring it in from my auto, I’ll see what effect that has.”

“I’ll get it!” cried Andy, and he fairly ran out and back.

For a time it looked as if even the powerful current would be useless, but when the doctor turned it on full strength there was a convulsive shudder of the body. Then, suddenly the eyes opened, and the voice of the rescued lad murmured:

“It’s cold—the water—Oh! The gasolene tank! It will explode! I can’t get away now! I must jump!”

He raised himself in bed, but the doctor gently pressed him back.

“There, there now,” spoke the physician soothingly. “You are all right. Don’t worry. You’ll be all right.”

“He’s going to live,” said Andy softly.

Once more the tired eyes closed, and then opened again.

“Where—where am I?” asked the lad wildly.

He looked about the room in amazement, and once more tried to get out of bed, but was restrained.

“You’re with friends,” said Mrs. Racer softly. “You will be well taken care of.”

“What—what place is this?” gasped the lad.

“Harbor View,” replied Frank promptly. “Who are you?”

Eagerly they all leaned forward, for they wanted to solve the mystery of the identity of the rescued lad. He gazed at them all in turn. A half smile played about his face. Then he said weakly:

“I am—”

He sank back upon the bed unconscious, his name unspoken.