“Then you sure need glasses! If that isn’t a box, I’m losing my own eyesight!”
“Jack’s right!” Ken exclaimed. “It is a box, and what’s worse, it looks like one of ours. Or rather, one of Carter’s that was stamped with the Scout name.”
“Golly, gee!” War cried. “How could it be? All of those boxes with ammunition and guns were sunk to the bottom of the bay!”
“The bay is shallow at this point,” Jack reminded him. “And the tide is coming in strong.”
“Ye fishes!” Willie muttered in consternation. “Suppose that is one of the boxes with the Scout name on it! Then what?”
“Captain Carter will get his!” War chortled. “Those custom officials will have proof that he was lying when he denied dumping the stuff last night!”
“They’ll also see our name printed on the boxes,” Jack reminded the group. “We’re almost certain to be involved.”
“And that would mean we can’t get out of Cuertos tomorrow,” added Ken. “As things stand now, Mr. Livingston practically has everything arranged.”
“We’d better find out if that is one of our boxes,” Jack declared, starting off across the beach. “Come on!”
Walking fast and dodging waves which washed high on the pebbles, they reached the rock pile. A water-soaked, battered box lay partially buried in wet sand.