Dan had not moved. Half crouching, half kneeling, his eyes were
fastened upon the vague deck ahead. Now, as though the elements had
worked to give him sight, the black sky was suddenly seared by a long,
lurid line of lightning. It was but the fraction of a second; it was
long enough. In that blue glow the derelict took form, grim, ghostly,
heaving, as a spirit picture might be thrown upon a black cloth, every
detail limned in filmy perfection.
With a cry Dan leaped to his feet and seized an axe lying by his side.
"We are not breaking," he shouted. "The mast has torn out of its step
and is pounding us. I am going to cut it away. We shall be all right."
The girl heard his voice, caught the enthusiasm of it, but
distinguished not a single word. As he crawled slowly by the side of
the cabin to the steps leading to the deck she half arose as though to
follow him.
"Dan, Dan," she cried, "don't leave me!"
He waved her back, and a second later had gained the deck. For a few
minutes she sat there, wondering, fearing, and then in a lull in the
storm she heard the blows of the axe. A great wave rose over the
quarter and ran forward with a roar. There came a shout. She
listened. The sounds of the axe were heard no more.
"Dan!" she called. "Dan!" Her words were whistled away on the wind.
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