"I've been doing a little in that line for some time," he said, moving his foot toward an ingot of copper. "That's why the Bulows wanted to get me, and I guess they would have done it this time if it hadn't been for you." He spoke grimly, taking the oxygen tube and drinking deeply from it. "I'll be ready for anything in a few minutes now," said he, and with considerable effort he stood up and looked across at the wreck like an eagle ready to swoop down upon its prey.
"Where do you want to take it—Key West?"
"No—just now I would rather hide it and get the prisoners up North quickly."
"I can take it where it can't be found in a hundred years," he said, looking over his engine.
Little Jim still watched as we raised anchor to get under way. He, or rather little Jim, towed the Hun cutter. I ran the Titian and followed. I wanted Washington to get their eyes and ears full before the Boche interest heard of it. I had started something big and needed help.
Byng hid the Boche cutter in a basin among some small islands, and ran for his own place not far away. He tied up and was waiting for me, fully recovered, the powerful, robust man of the sea. Six men were an overload for the Titian and we couldn't keep up with the Sprite.
Howard didn't pay much attention to me until they were lined up on his little wharf.
I didn't like the way he stood there, eyeing the fat man.
He would not come close, seeming to fear that he might harm the fellow if he did. He appeared to be struggling to restrain himself and succeeded pretty well. I thought it was because he saw the bandaged hand that little Jim had punctured when trying to break the lock of his warehouse.
He grew into the fierce Georgia Cracker again, whom I had seen stand up and offer to fight a whole camp of rough surveyors—but more intense if it were possible.