“Give me all the steam I want and the fog will not run this race,” cried the man at the wheel, showing by his manner that he was laboring under great excitement. The _Warrior_ was plowing furiously through the water. The passengers, without dreaming of the peril which the steamer was madly courting, gathered in groups upon the decks, trying to penetrate the gloom around them in vain. So fifteen minutes passed without any material change in the situation, except that the fog had continued to lift. The _Spray_ was now in plain sight to the lookout. “Is she gaining on us?” asked the captain, “or does it look so because the light is growing better?” “We are holding our own, captain.” Under his breath he added: “But we shan’t long, now the fog has lifted.” For the next ten minutes the fog lifted so rapidly that the _Spray_ was now in plain sight and bearing swiftly down upon them. “She’s gaining on us!” panted Captain Bumpstead. “Gaining, did you say?” cried a voice at his elbow, and he turned to find that Colonel Darringford had reached the pilot house. “This is no place for you at this time, colonel,” said the captain. “It’s just the place for me, and I’m going to stay here till we have run that hound out of the race.” The others knew it would be useless to argue with the maddened owner of the boat, and so they contented themselves with their respective duties. A silence fell on the speakers, save for the growls of the man at the wheel as he called down the tube every other minute for more steam. “Blow her to perdition and be spiked, but I must hev more steam.” The _Spray_ had begun to show greater life, and it was apparent to all that she was rapidly overtaking the older boat. New machinery and improved conditions made this easy. Had Captain Bumpstead known that even then the _Spray_ had not shown her best, he might have been more hopeless. “She’ll make the Point first!” he exclaimed. “Then it will be her ruin!” thundered Colonel Darringford. The _Warrior_ was trembling from fore to aft, groaning like a huge creature in its dying agonies. The captain had joined the group on the deck, though he was watching the twain in the pilot house more than the oncoming steamer, that even he could not help denying made a beautiful sight as she swept gracefully onward, throwing out deep furrows of foaming water very much as a huge plow would rend and throw out the mellow soil of the earth. Almost before the commander realized it, the _Spray_ was abreast of the _Warrior_! “We are lost!” he gasped. “She will win the right of way to the Point.” Aye, at that very moment Jack Carboy had seized the handle on the cord attached to the whistle, and was blowing a signal which in navigation language said: “The right of way is mine, and I am to cross your bows. Change your course or shut down.” Dan Dame at his post on the _Warrior_ heard and understood. As reckless as he was, he shrank from his foolhardy course.