Dave got the hydroplane under way again.

He was fortunate in striking a course that brought them back to the
boat house in about an hour's time.

The rescued man was somewhat revived by this time, and when the
hydroplane was safely housed, Dave took his arm and piloted the way
from the beach.

"It is less than half a mile to the hangars," the young aviator
explained. "When we get there we can find an automobile to take you
into town."

"It was when my launch struck a rock that I hurt my arm," the man
explained.

"Were you on board alone?" asked the curious Hiram.

"Yes. I was driving ahead full speed, to get ashore out of the fog.
I heard your machine, and was afraid I'd get run into. My launch
ran into a reef with terrific force. I was thrown against it
bulkhead, arm sprained or broken, nearly stunned, and then into the
water."

"But the launch, Mister?" questioned the interested Hiram anxiously.

"Smashed. I don't know if I could locate it again in the fog. I
couldn't use my hurt arm, and I fired my revolver, yelled, and gave
up when your machine came along."