CHAPTER XXX
A Through Ticket to Home
There it was in plain sight, rising like a giant nosegay of emerald from the crystalline water. It was barely two acres in extent, and, like nearly all islands great and small in southern Maine, the firs, pines and spruce grew to the very edge of the water. It reminded one of the patches of green earth in Europe where the frugal owners do not allow a square inch to go to waste.
“I don’t see anything of the Deerfoot,” said Calvert in a guarded voice to Noxon.
“We always lay to on the other side. Keep down!”
It was wise advice, though not needed. The two crouched so low in their crowded quarters that a person a hundred feet away would not have seen them. Each instinctively felt of his hip pocket. The little weapon was there.
The officers had now to depend upon Noxon, who for the time was director of the enterprise. He could make himself heard over his shoulder without drawing attention to himself, provided he was under the eye of his old associates. He was never more alert.
Veering to the right, where there was a hundred yards of clear water between the islet and the mainland, he slowed down and began gradually circling the exuberant patch of earth. It will be remembered that he had been there before and knew the habits of Woodford and Miller. By and by, he had glided far enough to bring the western shore into his field of vision. Before that moment he had discerned the stern and flagstaff of a launch. A second glance told him the truth, which he cautiously made known to the crouching forms behind him:
“The Deerfoot is there! Don’t stir till I give the word!”
Neither of the criminals was in sight, but it was evident they were near, else the launch would not be lying where it was. Noxon gave a series of toots with his whistle, though the noise of the exhaust must have been noted before. In response, Kit Woodford and Graff Miller came out from among the trees, halted at the side of the launch and stared at the Water Witch and its single occupant.