The fogs which often plague the coast of Maine and vicinity have a habit of sometimes leaving as suddenly as they come. It was a great relief to the party when they dived in among the pines and firs to find that the gloomy dampness had lifted and the sun was again shining from a clear sky. It impressed all as a good omen.
Noxon’s rest and care for his injured leg had been of great benefit. The rising inflammation had gone and the pain was trifling. If they did not walk fast, he was sure it would give him no anxiety.
Calvert took the lead, with Noxon next and Mike Murphy at the rear. The last was highly pleased to see his young friend walk without a perceptible limp.
The leader kept his bearings so well that when within an hour he reached the shore of the Back River, it was at the spot he had in mind. There was the runabout in which he and Warner Hagan had come from Wiscasset, and the owner was calmly smoking his brier wood pipe, content to wait indefinitely when he was well paid for so doing. He lay a few rods south of the landing, and just below him was the Water Witch, with Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes on board, wondering what in the world had become of Mike Murphy. The youths had tried to open communication with the master of the runabout, but he had been warned by his two passengers to tell nothing to anyone, and he glumly refused to talk. Chester had set out in quest of the missing Mike, going as far as the village. All he could learn there was that his friend had left a good while before and no one knew anything of him. The second mate went back to his Captain, and the two were so impatient that they were half inclined to leave without him, when lo! he appeared with Calvert and Noxon, coming from among the trees as if he had been absent only a few minutes.
Then followed full explanations, and you can imagine the astonishment of Alvin and Chester. They were sure of the identity of Noxon when he first appeared, but were considerate and said never a word that could hurt his feelings.
“You ran away with their launch,” added Calvert. “They ran away with yours, and you and they met as you were coming back. But for the fog you would have seen each other, for you must have passed quite close. The beauty of it is,” said the officer, with a flash of his keen eyes, “that while they have gone far away we know exactly where. My friend Hagan and I, with Noxon as our guide, are going to scoop them in.”
He thought it best not to affect too much mystery.
“They passed down Montsweag Bay clear to Knubble, through Goose Rock Passage into the Sheepscot, and up that to the Beautiful Isle of Somewhere. Most folks don’t know the exact location of that sweet spot, but we know—thanks to Noxon—the latitude and longitude of ours, which the same is the port we are heading for.”
The plan was simple. Noxon, who was familiar with the running of the Water Witch, was to act as engineer and steersman. Calvert and Hagan would be the only passengers, and the prize would be Kit Woodford and Graff Miller.
“And phwat’s to become of us?” asked Mike.