It was by now getting close to the time Jack figured on making a start. He planned on taking a leaf from the routine methods brought into service by the expert pilots manning the illegal air carriers, passing in and out from mother ship to their secret landing place—by making a high ceiling, and depend on a curtain of lofty clouds to effectually screen their presence while hopping over the danger zone.
“Time we skipped out of this,” he told Perk, who emitted a muffled roar which was possibly meant to be an expression akin to applause.
The waves were picking up somewhat in the bargain, which may have been one of the reasons why the ever cautious Jack wanted to get moving: he did not have any particular yearning for a headlong dash amidst rolling billows, such as might cause considerable trouble, even bring risk in their train should they find themselves compelled to make the venture.
However, they made the ascent without great trouble, even if there was a certain amount of splashing done. Perk looked pleased when the ship arose from its salt water contact, and began climbing at a steady pace.
Jack held out for some little time as though meaning to pass inshore far to the north of the point he was really aiming to attain; this he did to hoodwink any one who might chance to see them through strong glasses, and feel a little curious to know who they were, also, what their object could be in carrying on after such a fashion.
Eventually he turned more into the west; then, after passing over the shore line, faced due southwest, and sped on.
Finally when Perk warned them they were approaching their proposed landing-place Jack brought his charge lower until presently, as evening drew on apace, they could be seen sweeping along not five hundred feet above the tops of the tall cypress trees with their queer festoons of trailing Spanish moss.
Then came a glimpse of Black Water Bayou, bordered by the mysterious gloomy looking swamp, from whence had come all those uncouth sounds on the occasion of their stopover some time previously.
“Huh! mebbe we’ll git right ’customed to them awful noises,” Perk was assuring himself, as their pontoons glided along the smooth surface of the lonely lagoon, and the boat headed directly toward that artificial curtain behind which they had previously pocketed their “windjammer,” or as Perk sometimes called their craft the “crocodile”—partly because, as he affirmed, such a reptile was the only real amphibian, able to negotiate both land and water in turn, and feeling at home in both.
“So far, okay,” he observed, softly, after the boat had come to a stop, close to that friendly ambush where they could readily hide their craft should they choose to start forth with Jethro aboard his smaller ducking powerboat; “an’ naow let’s on’y hope the gink shows up on time.”