wrapped about her like a horrible clinging web which she could not push aside. On and on she ran, through the loose, shifting sand, into the endless dark. And at last she felt the bulk of the Coast Guard Station looming ahead, and shouted before she reached it.
Running toward the door, she stumbled over something that moved and groaned faintly. It was the limp form of a man, huddled against a post on the beach. Joan did not stop. She hammered on the door of the Station and shouted again.
The captain came downstairs in his shirt and trousers, blinking and running his big hands through his stiff, grizzled hair. He looked very much as though he were seeing a specter. Joan poured out her story as intelligibly as she could, and the captain, wide awake now, gave quick orders to the men who were tumbling out, pulling on their coats. The place woke to rapid and efficient action. The crew dashed to the boathouse, each man in his place, and made a record launching of the big power surf-boat. The injured patrolman was carried into the Station, where he sat rubbing his head and little by little recovering his senses. One of the men ran up the beach, with lantern bobbing, to find the
