Soon it became evident that Peter had miscalculated the length of the lake. Darkness was drawing nigh and still the range of rocky pinnacles was far enough away to baffle any attempt to fix the channel with any degree of reliability. The wind, too, hitherto light, was piping up dead astern and against the slight but distinctly perceptible current. Peter was steering. More than once he glanced astern at the curling waves. In a craft possessing any degree of seaworthiness he would not have troubled to look behind him, knowing the short-crested waves would pass harmlessly under the boat's keel. But the keelless type of freak construction was already giving signs of trouble. The metal rudder, of absurdly insignificant proportions, had little or no grip, except when at short intervals the narrow stern, weighted by the heavy outboard engine, dipped dangerously in the hollow water. At one moment the engine was almost stopped by the increased resistance of the deeply immersed blades; at another, the motor was racing furiously as the "orange-box" buried her bows and threatened to broach-to. Both men realized the danger. Wave-crests were flicking over the sides of the little craft. Brian Strong was busily engaged in baling. Peter was endeavouring to keep the boat on her course, the while striving to discern an outlet between the still distant rocks. Presently darkness fell upon the scene. The wind was increasing and now blew with the force of a "fresh breeze". Peter would have laughed at it in a seaworthy centre-board dinghy, but in present conditions, he knew it was far from being a laughing matter. Somewhere, and not very far distant by this time, was a lee shore. The "rebound" from the land at this end of the lake was already becoming apparent, for the waves were now becoming irregular and confused. Uncle Brian's task was a difficult one, for of all sorts of craft those with flat bottoms are the most awkward to bale out. In spite of his strenuous efforts the water was gaining. He communicated the news to his nephew. "All right!" shouted Peter encouragingly. "I'll round to. Pass an oar through one of the sleeping-bags and weight the lower end of the bag. It will make a sea-anchor and we can ride to that. Call out when you're ready." Uncle Brian understood. Although not a seaman, he was used to small boat work. He began to prepare the sea-anchor, which when hove overboard would keep the boat's head to wind, act as a floating breakwater, and reduce her drift to a little less than a mile an hour. Suddenly the boat's stern dipped more than before. A wave broke inboard, sweeping completely over the outboard motor. The engine stopped. Either the water had short-circuited the high-tension wire, or else had found its way into the carburettor. Immediately, the "orange-box" swung round broadside on to the wind, with the water already up to her crew's knees.