“All but casting off.” “Then let us get aboard.” In a few minutes they were upon the tiny after-deck of a long, narrow power-boat of something less than fifteen tons. Brady and his men were gathered forward and upon the top of the low cabin. Kenyon saw the last one aboard; then he handed Dallas down into the cabin. “Cast off,” said he to the men in charge. “And let us see what time you can make between here and North Brother Island.” XIX ON BOARD THE VIXEN “Through the scud and fog, and the flying spray We drove all night till the break of the day. Yo ho, my lads, yo ho.” --_An Improvisation of Garry Webster._ THE lines were let go and the boat shoved off; then the gasoline engine was started, and after a moment’s hesitancy in getting under way, the fleet craft buried its nose in the water and shot down the Harlem toward East River. “Now,” said Garry Webster, in a low tone to Kenyon; “now that there seems to be a moment in which we can take breath, what in the name of the fire-eyed gods does all this mean?” Kenyon laughed. “If you will come down into the cabin,” said he, “I’ll try and tell you about it.” Dallas sat there, still enveloped in her long coat; and Kenyon noticed, with a quick shock, that she was very pale. “You should not have come,” said he, and Webster nodded significantly, aside, at the gentleness of the tone. “It has been too much for you.” “Do I look bad?” she asked. “But perhaps it is the lantern light,” and she smiled bravely. “I have calculated to catch the _Wizard_ about North Brother Island,” said Kenyon. “You see the stretch of water from the Twenty-third Street anchorage to the mouth of the Harlem is one of the most congested on earth. A craft is forced to proceed at low speed at any time, and more especially upon a dark night like this. The cars brought us up like hurricanes, and we’ll get into the big stream in good time, if nothing goes wrong.” “Good work!” applauded Webster. “I tell you what, Miss Gilbert, it takes Kenyon to do this sort of thing properly. At college now, he was especially excellent in planning things. Do you notice the blush?” with a chuckle at his friend’s secret and impatient gestures. “I think modesty is so becoming in a man, don’t you?” “I do, indeed,” smiled the girl. “Now, Garry, before you relapse into a state of hopeless idiocy,” remarked Kenyon, “pay attention, and I’ll tell you what has happened.” So while Webster listened Kenyon told him what the reader already knows. When he had finished Webster arose. “Miss Gilbert,” said he, bowing as well as the swaying of the flying boat would permit, “I bend the knee before courage. Now, that little scene of yours with an apparently desperate cracksman,” and his blue eyes snapped with admiration, “was one that required doing, and I tell you what, Ken,” with a wise nod toward his friend, “you should be mighty glad that it happened. It has set you right, somehow.”