“Pass,” said a sailor mounting guard at the big gates which, opened on their arrival, since had been swung across the entrance. “You are expected.”
He was one of the men who had been on deck watch earlier aboard the Sub Chaser, and had been placed there because he would recognize them.
Evidently the others of the party already had arrived, for the guard barred the gate and followed them.
“How will I go through the gates when I return,” objected Mr. Temple, turning around.
“The pier watchman will see you out, sir,” said the sailor, a young fellow, touching his cap.
Struck by the beauty of the scene, the party paused several moments. To the boys it was a revelation. To Mr. Temple, who had visited Santa Barbara in the past, it was a recurring delight. In the west, where the sun only a few moments before had sunk beneath the waters over the shoulder of San Miguel, the sky was yet bright. But behind them deepening twilight lay over the tree-embowered town, while still farther to the east the mountains were in darkness and lights twinkled here and there among the houses in the foothills.
Over all was an atmosphere of peace, of lazy contentment, so much in contrast with the object of their expedition that it was remarked by the sensitive Frank.
“As peaceful as Paradise here,” he said. “While out there——” He waved his hand to indicate the west, and paused expressively.
The others looked at the distant islands, humped mountainously like crouching camels against the darkening western sky.
“I wonder what will happen?” said Bob.