“That depends upon how you behave yourself. If you grow tired of waiting, take a walk up to Beartown, have dinner with Mrs. Friestone and then come back and wait for a few days and nights till you see us again.”
“That’s aisy, as I told me taicher whin she asked me how much two and two made and I informed her the same was five.”
“But Mr. Hagan isn’t here,” reminded Chester.
“He will be very soon. Meanwhile, I’ll say a word to my man.”
He walked to the runabout, where he told its owner he might return to Wiscasset as he was not needed further. He added a dollar to the price agreed upon and the man bade him good-by. Hagan, who had gone off on what might be called a reconnaissance, justified the faith of his partner, for he came forward, and thus the party was complete.
The distance was shorter by way of the Narrows and down the Sheepscot than by the route just named. Accordingly, the Water Witch headed north, while the Deerfoot it will be remembered went south. The difference was not much, the real reason why the course was taken being of another nature. If the Water Witch had set out to search for the other boat, with no knowledge of its destination, it would have prowled to the southward, inspecting all likely hiding places on the way, with a strong chance that she herself would be detected and her purpose read before she discovered the fugitive. By taking the northern route this handicap would be avoided. They could make much better progress and not be seen until it was too late for the criminals to escape.
Thus Alvin Landon, Chester Haynes and Mike Murphy were left on the shore of the Back River, near Beartown landing, without any launch and compelled to pass the time as best they could. They decided to spend a few hours in the village.
They appreciated the reason why Calvert would not have their company. He was plunging into a venture where deadly weapons were likely to be used, and their lives would be endangered. The affair was really none of theirs. Besides, their presence would be a serious handicap and might prove fatal to success.
The Water Witch soon shot past Cushman Point, passing the runabout so close that the officers exchanged salutations with the man who had brought them from Wiscasset. Calvert and Hagan sat side by side, both puffing heavy black cigars, the smoke of which as it streamed astern might have suggested that the launch was impelled by steam instead of gasoline. She ran smoothly, and Noxon, with a pale face, his hands grasping the wheel, steered as skilfully as Alvin Landon had directed the swifter Deerfoot. He had done it many times and had no fear. The young man had come to the parting of the ways, and nothing could turn him back. His resolution was due to the wound, which had distressed him so much when he hobbled to the home of Mrs. McCaffry that he believed for a time he was near the end of life, and when one reaches that point he is sure to do some serious thinking.
Just above Clough Point, marking the northern extremity of the large island of Westport, the Water Witch turned eastward through the Narrows and headed straight south down the Sheepscot River to its destination some ten miles away. Noxon seated with his hands upon the wheel remained silent. The officers spoke to each other now and then in low tones, but most of the time left him to his meditations. He held the boat to moderate speed, for there was no call for haste. She was running easily, but a glance by the young man into the gasoline tank showed the supply was low, and he wished to avoid stopping at any of the landings to renew it. Besides, high speed is always a strain upon an engine, and he was nervously anxious to prevent a breakdown at a critical point in the enterprise. His familiarity with the launch made him cautious.