36xxxx 054 Out Of Fuel

The Gregory boat is nearly 50 miles from the Magic Island. It is after 9 o'clock at night with the warm, sluggish darkness of the subtropics hanging over the water, as the big diesel-moted cruiser plows steadily northward toward the regular steam-alains and California.

The escape from the island was entirely successful, but the Gregory boat is short of fuel, and those on board have no guarantee as to their margin of safety before the Euclidean scientists on the island repair the damage done by Jerry and Joan and set out after the boat.

Mrs. Gregory and her daughter Joan are in the radio cabin, listening constantly for a message from Johnson, who is speeding through the South Pacific, somewhere ahead of them. Captain Bradford and Jerry are standing in the pilot house on the boat, watching carefully for any sign of light on the boat.

How much farther can we go on the oil we got, Tex? Not very far, kid. I'd say five miles to most. She? Are you sure about that cold message of Johnson's? Good message, Jerry. Johnson said he'd leave a trail of oil drums, with lighted buoys on his course. He wasn't furthered in this when he dropped the

first when according to his message. Then we ought to see it pretty soon, if it hasn't been carried away off the course. Well, not much danger of that. There's no wind, and I've been setting our course to compensate for what little drifter is.

Just the same, I'm getting kind of worried. We couldn't do any more than holeron a course with the little breeze we got. I know it, Jerry, but we'll just have to hang on and see what happens.