It was Flynn’s command, and Wallace dared not disobey. He marched to the stern of the boat, and the man followed, holding the revolver ready. “Get over into that boat!” snarled Flynn, savagely. “Be lively, or I’ll sink some lead in you and then throw you over!” “What do you mean to do?” gasped Wallace, now thoroughly frightened and cowering. “Get over!” yelled Flynn, furiously. “I am going to shoot!” The Belfast lad started to obey. “Please don’t make me get into the boat!” he whimpered, beginning to cry. “I didn’t mean anything! I’ll never tell a word as long as I live—I swear I won’t!” “If you are not in that boat when I count three, I will shoot you! One!” Wallace caught hold of the line and drew the boat containing Merriwell nearer to the yacht. Now he was weeping outright, shaking with fear. “Oh, you can’t mean it, Mr. Flynn——” “Two!” Wallace dropped into the boat. Then Flynn caught the painter out of Steve’s hand and cast the small boat with its two human occupants adrift on the tempestuous sea. The boat drifted away. The yacht swung round, the wind filled her sails, and away she went into the darkness of the night. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XVII FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH. Walter Wallace wept and wrung his hands, clinging to the thwarts of the small boat, which was tossed about like a bit of cork. There was a light on the yacht, and he strained his eyes toward it. “Oh, he can’t mean to leave me this way!” sobbed the Belfast boy. “He will come back for me!” But the light grew fainter and fainter as the yacht sped away. The wind was beginning to howl now, curling the crest of the rollers up into white caps, now and then tearing great sheets of water from the waves. Dimmer and dimmer grew the light, which showed at intervals as the little boat rose to the apex of the waves. Sometimes it could not be seen at all, and then Wallace groaned, for he still clung to the desperate hope that Flynn would put about and return to the boat he had cast adrift. The Belfast boy seemed to forget that he was not alone in the boat. He prayed and he raved. He expressed regret that he had ever had anything to do with Flynn. At last, he could see the light no more. Several times he rose high in the boat as it rolled to the top of a swell and strained his eyes through the darkness, but was unrewarded. All around was the dark, swirling sea that seemed to hiss at him in scorn. “Lost!” he groaned, sinking down. “The storm is coming, and this boat must be swamped. It is the end for me! I am beginning to see that this is just punishment. I have been a bad boy. I did not know how bad I really was, but now I can see it all. Oh, if I live I will reform! I swear it! I will lead a different life! And Parker Flynn shall be punished!”