"We'd better get busy, I think," said Colin, "it won't be so very long before it begins to get dark."
"We'll see," was the reply, and picking up his gaffing-hook, Vincente prodded here and there amid the kelp. "T'ought so," he added a minute later, and pointed at the water.
"I don't see anything," said Colin, looking closely. "The water's too muddy."
"No mud," said the boatman, "zat's sepia ink ze squid has squirted so as to hide. Zey always do zat. Zere's probably a lot of zem zere, for zey always keep togezzer."
"Is that the real sepia ink, do you know, Vincente?" the boy asked.
"Ze squid, no; ze octopus, yes. Zere is two or t'ree people here zat catch ze octopus an' sen' ze ink bags to Frisco. See, zere's squid!"
As his eyes became a little accustomed to the reflections in the weed, Colin was able to see ghostlike brown forms that seemed to slide rather than swim through the water.
"Do they swim backwards?" he asked in surprise.
"Always, I t'ink," said the boatman. "Zey take in water at ze gills and zey shoot it out from a pipe near ze mout', an' zat way zey push zemselves along tail first. I'll bring ze boat closer to ze shore for zey'll back away from ze boat an' get into shoal water where we can spear zem."