CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The End of the Race

It was still pitch-dark on the Pacific, miles off Cliffport, but Sandy saw a dim, gray smear of light in the east that told him dawn was not too far off. Dawn—and the shots it would bring from Jones and Turk!

If his plan didn’t work now, it would never work, he knew. This was to be really a one-shot try! But better to try, he felt, than to tack aimlessly back and forth, waiting for Jones to close in.

Almost mechanically, Sandy helped Jerry put the sloop about on her new course before the wind. Once again the genoa jib was held out wing-and-wing with the boat hook, and once again the mainsheet exercised only a light pull in his hand. With everything set, Sandy and Jerry turned their attention to the sloop behind them.

The pursuing white sails shone dimly through the darkness as Jones followed them in their course. His spinnaker, released from its duty as a genoa, was once more flying full and round before him, taking advantage of every puff of wind at his back. It was a foregone conclusion that he would catch them now, unless they were even faster than before in putting about on some new tack.

Jerry could not stand the suspense a moment longer. “Sandy, what are you going to do?” he cried. “Whatever it is, if we don’t do it now, we’re goners!”

“Not yet,” Sandy muttered. “He’s got to get closer!”

“If he gets any closer, he’s going to start shooting,” Jerry replied. “What do we do then?”

“We’ve got to be ready for it,” Sandy answered. “I expect him to shoot, and I expect him to start pretty soon. In fact, we’d better get down as far as possible right now!”

Both boys sat together on the cockpit deck, Jerry awkwardly steering and Sandy holding the mainsheet in his left hand. “You steer, Jerry,” he said. “I’m going to turn around so I can keep an eye on Jones. I expect the fireworks to start any minute now!”

“I can do without the entertainment,” Jerry said. Then he added once more, “Boy, I sure hope you know what you’re doing! If you don’t....” His voice trailed off.

Half kneeling, Sandy crouched by the stern seat, keeping as much under cover as possible. Over the edge of the afterdeck he saw Jones’s sloop, closer now than it had been ever since their fantastic race had begun. For some reason, Jones was holding back, not closing in as fast as he had been before. Sandy knew that he must be puzzled, and trying to figure out what their next move would be. His success depended on outthinking them as much as it did on outsailing them, and his skill lay largely in his ability to guess what maneuver the boys were going to try next. This time, Sandy thought, he must really be baffled. No one in his right mind would try to escape as they were doing!

For minutes that seemed like hours, the chase continued with Jones making no effort to advance. Then, Sandy realized, Jones made up his mind to attack. His sails were trimmed fuller, his spinnaker lofted higher, and a white bow wave broke out to signify Jones’s new speed. There wasn’t much time left now before things would start popping!

By now, less than one hundred yards separated the two boats. Not much more distance, Sandy thought, than a target range. Still, it wasn’t quite close enough....

A shot! As they heard the crack of the pistol, the whine of the bullet passed overhead! Another shot—another—and a piece of the coaming splintered off uncomfortably close to Sandy’s ear!

Jones’s boat surged on, preceded by a rain of shots. Now less than fifty yards of water were between them! More shots followed, mostly going through the sails. With a _thunk_, one hit the hull—another gouged up the deck—a third hit the tiller, not six inches from Jerry’s hand.

Jerry’s face looked white as he craned his neck to look up at his friend. “Whatever you’re planning, I wish you’d tell me now,” he said. “Because I may not be around to see the big moment when it comes!”

“You’ll be here,” Sandy said, “because the big moment is now! Turn around with me and watch Jones’s boat. If this works, it’s going to be something worth watching!”

As Jerry changed his position, he saw for the first time that Sandy had the big brass flare gun in his hand! He was cocking it carefully, and keeping an eye on Jones’s sloop which seemed to be almost ready to ram them. Lying flat on the foredeck of the pursuing boat, they could clearly see the figure of Turk, hurriedly reloading his pistol.

“You’re not going to try to shoot him with that?” Jerry said. “Those things are way too inaccurate! You won’t stand a chance!”

“Not him,” Sandy said. “It!” He steadied the flare gun on the edge of the afterdeck and squinted down its length, aiming at the spinnaker!

Seeing now what Sandy was attempting, Jerry crouched beside him and held his breath. Sandy waited till almost the last possible minute until, just as Turk was raising his pistol to fire once more, he released the flare.

A dazzling arc of fire leaped from the brass muzzle straight for the bellying spinnaker! It landed in a shower of sparks, bright enough to show them Turk’s astonished face turned upward to see what had hit them. The shot had hit squarely in the center of the ballooning sail, burning a small, red-ringed hole which slowly spread.

Would this be all? Just a spreading ring of coals that would die in a minute or two? If this was all, it was not enough! Then, just as Sandy was beginning to fear that he had made a mistake that might well cost them everything, the sail burst into flame!

The column of fire shot straight upward into the blackness of the night, vividly illuminating both boats. In its brilliant light, the boys saw Turk stand up, black against the flames, then leap overboard.

“One down!” Sandy said. “But what about Jones?”

As the flaming spinnaker spread its fire to the mainsail and the mast, they saw Jones rise in the cockpit, level his rifle and shoot. Six shots rang out in quick succession, and all six whizzed harmlessly by. Then Jones flung his empty gun into the sea and turned his attention to the fire.

Jerry and Sandy sailed slowly away from the flaming scene, and then started to sail in a circle around it, still watching Jones. He had gotten a bucket from below, and was throwing sea water, as fast as he could scoop it up, over the burning and the unburned parts of the sloop. The fire was gaining though, and his efforts were obviously doomed to failure.

“If he hadn’t been so busy shooting when the fire started,” Jerry said, “he would have stood a good chance of putting it out. The delay is going to sink him!”

Jones worked feverishly until the last possible moment, until the decks and the cabin were aflame, and the fire had spread to the little cockpit. Finally, when it was obvious that there was no more he could do, he kicked off his shoes and jumped over the side.

“What do we do now?” Sandy asked. “We can’t just leave them there to drown. They probably deserve it, but I don’t think it’s up to us to judge what kind of sentence they get.”

“You’re right,” Jerry agreed. “But if we take them aboard, we won’t stand much of a chance against them. Why don’t we try to find them and toss them a couple of life jackets so they can stay afloat while we make up our minds?”

It was no trouble to find Turk, who came swimming up to the side to beg to be taken aboard. Sandy kept the empty flare pistol aimed at him while Jerry looked for the life jackets. When he had found them, he tossed one over the side, and Turk struggled into it. Then, still frightened of the flare gun which he did not know was empty, he held up his hands tamely to allow Jerry to tie them together.

“Now will ya lemme come on board?” he pleaded.

“I don’t think so,” Sandy answered. “I think you’ll be safer at the end of a long line. Just relax, and we’ll tow you back to shore!”

With Turk in tow, the sloop handled rather sluggishly as the boys circled the scene of the fire searching for Jones. The bright light of the flames had died to a glowing, dull orange which was soon to go out altogether as the sloop settled lower and lower in the water.

“What we need is a searchlight,” Jerry said. “We may never find him unless he swims to us the way Turk did!”

“Listen!” Sandy said. “If I’m not mistaken, I hear a searchlight coming now!”

Turning in the direction of the new sound of powerful marine motors, they were met with a bright searchlight beam, which swept from them to the burning sloop and back again. For the first time since their adventure had started, Sandy felt a genuine feeling of relief, as the Coast Guard cutter reversed its engines and came to a neat stop alongside.