They stood in the bow of the boat, which long since had rounded West Point and was proceeding very slowly along the southern shore of Santa Cruz Island. An hour and a half had elapsed since Inspector Burton and his party had been set ashore. They were standing close in. And now again the mountains, which around the western extremity of the island had retreated inland, had drawn close to the shore. The mouth of the creek had not yet been sighted by any of those straining their eyes to gaze shoreward.
Ensign Warwick joined the boys, snapping shut the lid of his watch.
“Time’s almost up,” he said. “Half an hour yet. Surely, we cannot have passed the creek. Inspector
Burton said his information was that it broadened out sufficiently to admit several schooners.”
“I’ve watched every inch of the shore,” Jack said. “And I haven’t seen it yet. But, look. There.” He pointed ahead.
A break appeared in the surf tossing against the foot of the steep cliffs that came down sheer to the shore.
Ensign Warwick stared keenly, then nodded with satisfaction.
“That’s the creek, undoubtedly,” he said. “Too bad we have to operate without moonlight.”
He stepped to the side of the man at the wheel and whispered a low-voiced direction. Then he signaled the engine room. As a result, the pilot swung the wheel over, and the Sub Chaser responded by heading for shore. At the same time, the slow beat of the engines was still further reduced, and the craft proceeded under its headway aided by the drift of the incoming tide.
The farther point of land at the mouth of the creek was low, but a huge rock towered like a guarding tower on the hither side. Atop of it grew several twisted, stunted oak trees. These could plainly be distinguished as the boat slowly drew closer in.