it was a murky dawn and no sun followed in its wake. the air was heavy and oppressive, and low rumblings of thunder echoed in from sea. skippy shook his head worriedly as they chugged out of sight of the bay to let the davy jones pass by.

“i don’t feel right this morning, big joe,” the boy insisted. “say what you like, but we shouldn’t wait—we oughta tail the davy jones, right away—this minute, before the storm comes on.”

“now ye be worryin’ agin, hey?” tully asked impatiently. “that storm’s out at sea and it won’t hit the channel. sure ’tis just a murky mornin’.”

“all right,” said skippy, “but i know.”

tully was beginning to be annoyed with skippy’s gloomy predictions and he showed it. yet somehow it gave him a little uneasiness and from time to time he glanced thoughtfully from the boy to the distant black horizon.

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the storm clouds were coming nearer and thunder rolled ominously over their heads. finally tully turned over his motor and set her nose about. after she had warmed up, he opened wide the throttle and headed for the bay.

“i’ll be keepin’ her open and beat it for the channel soon’s we get across,” he explained. “we’ll be gettin’ there sure ’fore the storm breaks bad.”

“i hope so,” said skippy, “because it’s travelin’ in from sea, fast.”

“we’ll be goin’ round by the rocks and save fifteen minutes or so,” tully said hopefully searching the boy’s face. “’tis high enough tide for to take a chance.”

the rocks, that bane of all mariners who were unfamiliar with the lurking waters beyond the bay, could be safely passed in small boats at high tide. there were few, however, who took advantage of this concession of nature to the small nautical man, nearly all mariners preferring the greater safety that was offered them by going the long way around inland beach.

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a high wind was steadily rising as they chugged into the vicinity of the rocks, and it prevented skippy from hearing that call of distress for which he was so intently listening. whether the wind was against them, he did not know, for the howling tempest and turbulent water drowned out all other sounds.

the storm broke after a few minutes and rain lashed at them from all sides. tully said not a word, but stayed at his wheel silent and grave. and by his averted head, skippy knew that he, too, was listening for that siren call from the davy jones.

salt spray flung itself up over the bow and into skippy’s face. he could have moved farther back to avoid it, but he seemed incapable of action then, and sat tense and white, listening, listening....

tully did not miss it. the boy’s tragic expression so dismayed him that he felt for the first time in his life that he should have mended his ways while there was still time. all his sins seemed to have crowded into skippy’s face to accuse him.

and still they heard no call of distress from the davy jones.

tully, desperate, raced his engine until they whistled through the foaming spray. then suddenly they felt the keel grind under them with such force that it took all their combined strength to steady the boat and keep her from turning over.

“what happened, do you s’pose?” skippy asked with white face.

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“sufferin’ swordfish, kid!” tully cried. “i think she’s stove in—the rocks! look!”

he pointed and skippy looked, to see a jagged hole in the bottom of the kicker. water came in through it rapidly and even as he stared at it, it trickled over his feet and up to his ankles.