Third Warning

  CHAPTER XVIII FATHER SUPERIOR AT HIS WORST

  The instant the sun left them the whole world appeared to change. Thewater lay all about them black and threatening. Land seemed miles away.Florence shook herself. Then she glanced up at the sun. The cloud was buta small one. Already the sun was painting a golden rim along its loweredge.

  "The rocks," said Katie, "are down there."

  Looking down into the water at the side of the boat, Florence wasstartled. The water was crystal clear. The great masses of rocks were soreal that they seemed dry land. "As if we were floating on air above it,"she told herself. It was strange.

  "This is the place," said Katie, as, a moment later, they passed acrossthe far end of that submerged reef. "You go across fast." Her stout armssent the boat racing. "Then you drop your oars and let the lure sinkdown, down, down. If you don't get a rock, you--"

  She did not finish, for at that instant something all but dragged thepole from her companion's hands.

  "There!" Katie exclaimed, "You've got--"

  But no! The line went slack.

  "Oh!" Florence exclaimed. "What a--"

  "There!" Katie exclaimed again as the pole all but bent double. "Hang ontight. You--"

  Was there ever such a thrilling, appalling moment? Once again the linewent slack.

  But not for long. Ten seconds and the pull came again. "Now!" Katieexclaimed, half rising in her place, "Now you got him."

  That she had something big on her line, Florence could not doubt. That itwas alive she was not long in finding out. She had reeled in twenty feetof line when, of a sudden, the reel handle was jerked from her fingers.Her knuckles were barked until they bled as she tried in vain to recoverthat handle. Only the strength of her line saved the day, the line andKatie, for the stout young Finn began backing the boat away.

  "I--I've still got him," Florence panted as she took a fresh grip on herreel.

  Once more she began reeling in. Ten, twenty, thirty feet, the fish camegrudgingly. Then, with a suddenness that was startling, the pull on theline redoubled.

  "He's turned on you. Hold--hold on hard!" Katie screamed.

  This time Florence's fingers did not slip. With grim determination sheheld on. This was a truly big one. She must have him. Was he the catch ofthe season? What joy if only he were. To work as she had worked, then toplay for only a day, to bring in the prize fish!

  "Ah!" she breathed as once more the strain lessened and she startedreeling in.

  Of a sudden the line went slack. "Gone!" she exclaimed in consternation.

  "No! No! He may--be only--" Katie did not finish. Once again the reelsang. After a rush toward the boat the fish had darted to the right. Onceagain the girl's reel was emptied and it was only Katie's skill with theboat that saved the line.

  "Sometimes," said Florence with a mock-sober look on her face, "I wish wehadn't hooked that fish." Rubbing the blood from her knuckles, she beganagain.

  For a time she met with greater success. Nearly all her line was in. Thefish was directly beneath them when, with a sudden rush he shot upward.It was as if a spring-board were beneath him, for, as he hit the surfacehe rose clear of the water.

  A blue-black streak of silver, he appeared to hang in air, then, like adepth-bomb shot downward.

  "Wha-what a whopper," Katie cried.

  As for Florence, she was too busy saving her bruised knuckles even tothink. One thing stood out in her mind, she would not give up. She musthave that fish.

  Sixty seconds later the fish once again came to the surface, this timeforty feet away. He came to the top, head, tail and all. For a splitsecond they were permitted to admire him, then he was down again.

  Had Florence been a man, with the strong hard grip of a man in herfingers, the battle must have ended much sooner. As it was, time passedswiftly and as swiftly the big fish battled for freedom.

  At last, just as the girl was giving up hope, the fish, with theperversity of his kind, came up beneath the boat, circled twice on ashort line, then lay quite still on the surface. It was Katie who put thefinishing touch to that bit of drama. Reaching out with her strong armsshe gathered the fish, all wet and dripping, to her bosom and "loved him"into the boat. After that for a full minute the two girls sat staringfirst at each other, then at the fish. He was a forty-pounder,thirty-five at the least; twice as large as any fish caught that season.

  Then, with the suddenness of a blow on the head, both girls awoke to thestartling fact that during the battle their little world had vanished.Gone was the spot of green among the blue that is Passage Island, goneBlake's Point and Edward's Island. There was no land, only blackthreatening skies and blacker water. Clouds and fog had blotted outeverything. Stealing up from behind Isle Royale, one of Superior's suddenstorms was racing down upon them. Katie courageously gripped her oars.But which way? Who could tell? In vain their eyes scoured the surface ofthe waters for the Lone Fisherman. He was not to be seen. Man or phantom,he had vanished.

  "It's a grand fish," said Katie, striving in vain to keep the tremble outof her voice.

  "Yes," Florence thought, "it is a wonderful fish, but at what cost!"

  It was a sober pair that faced the immediate future. Low-lying clouds hadblotted out every trace of land. They were a mile from anywhere. Whichway was land? How were they to know? Two hours before the wind had beenoff-shore. If they now headed into the wind, would they reach the island?Lake Superior winds change on a moment's notice. If land did lie offthere to windward, could they reach it? Every moment saw the galeincreasing. White-caps were appearing.

  Resolutely Katie headed into the wind and began rowing. There was, on thesturdy girl's face at that moment, a look of such dogged determination asFlorence had never seen there before.

  "I got her into this," she thought soberly. "It was wrong to come."

  And yet, had it been wrong? It was their day off. They had wanted a goodtime. They had had it, too. No one could deny that. Yet they hadbeen--well, perhaps one might say rash, impulsive. Did impulse ever haveany rightful place in one's life? She wondered and could not answer.Surely life would be dull if everyone plodded straight on always doingthe sure, safe thing. No vim nor sparkle to life. And yet--

  Suddenly she realized that this was not a time for thought but foraction. Extra oars lay in the bottom of the boat. Seizing these she setthem in place, then waited until she had caught the rhythmic swing ofKatie's rowing. After that for a full quarter hour the creak of oars, thewhistle of wind and the low swish of mounting waves were all thatdisturbed the silence of those black waters.

  Suddenly Florence felt a hand on her shoulder. "Stop rowing," said Katie.

  "Why? What--"

  Katie made no reply. Instead she turned the boat about to guide it byslow, easy strokes straight away from the storm.

  "It's no good." Her voice sounded tired when at last she spoke. "All thetime the wind it grows stronger. Perhaps land is this way. Who knows? Wecannot go against the wind. With the wind we can go far, far! It is agood boat."

  There was a note almost of affection in the big girl's voice. "It is aThompson boat."

  Florence did not know what a Thompson boat was. She did know that theirboat was deep, straight across the top and strong. She was thankful forall this. But which way were they heading? In some directions it was twohundred miles to land. And who could tell how this storm would end?

  "Waves, mountain high," she murmured. "Lake Superior at its worst."