Frank did not have to tell his companions what to do. They knew their duty and how far they could be useful, as well as their leader. The motor boat was about a quarter of a mile out and was on fire. They could see the flames belching out at the stern. There seemed to be three or four persons aboard. As far as they could make it out at the distance they were, one of the passengers had sprung overboard and was floating around on a box or plank. The others were crowded together at the bow, trying to keep away from the flames. Randy had dashed down the beach to where there was a light rowboat overturned on the sand. Pep was making for a long pier running out quite a distance, pulling off his coat as he went. Frank had his eyes fixed upon a small electric launch lying near the pier. He did not know nor notice what course his chums had taken. He realized that if help came to the people in peril on the motor boat it must come speedily to be of any avail. It took Frank less than three minutes to reach the spot where a light cable held the launch against the pier. A rather fine-looking old man stood nearby, glancing through his gold-rimmed eyeglasses toward the beach, as if impatient of something. “Mister,” shot out Frank, breathlessly, “is this your craft?” “It is,” replied the gentleman. “I am waiting for my man to come and run me down to Rock Point.” “Did you see that?” inquired Frank, rapidly, pointing to the burning motor boat. “Why, I declare—I hadn’t!” exclaimed the man, taking a survey of the point in the distance indicated by Frank. “What can have happened?” “An explosion, sir,” explained Frank. “You see, they must have help.” “Where is that laggard man of mine?” cried the owner of the launch, growing excited. “If he would come we might do something.” “Let me take your launch,” pressed Frank, eagerly. “Do you know how to run it?” “Oh, yes, sir.” “I don’t. Do your best, lad. You must hurry. The boat is burning fiercely.” It only needed the word of assent to start Frank on his mission of rescue. There had never been a better engineer on the lake near Fairlands than our hero. He was so perfectly at home with a launch that the owner of the one he had immediately sprung into could not repress a “Bravo!” as Frank seemed to slip the painter, spring to the wheel and send the craft plowing the water like a fish, all with one and the same deft movement. Frank estimated time and distance and set the launch on a swift, diagonal course. He made out a rowboat headed in the same direction as himself, and Randy was in it. Frank saw a flying form leave the end of the long pier in a bold dive. It was Pep. Frank could not deviate or linger, for the nearer he got to the blazing craft the more vital seemed the peril of those now nearly crowded overboard by the heat and smoke. Besides that, he knew perfectly well that the crack swimmer of Fairlands, his friend Pep, could take care of himself in the water.