“Any deep water there, sir?”
“For only a very little way in. Then the stream moves over a pebbly bottom like a running brook.”
“Then it looks, sir, as though Lemly—if he’s aboard—plans to run in there and hustle ashore.”
“Or else stay and fight,” hinted Powell Seaton. “The place is lonely enough for a fight, if the rascals dare try it.”
“Hepton!” summoned Halstead, a few moments later. “Don’t you think you’d better get up your rifle? You don’t need to show it, but someone may send us a shot or two from the drab boat.”
Hepton sprang below, bringing up both rifles. Crouching behind the forward deck-house, he examined the magazines of both weapons.
“We’re carrying load enough for a squad o’ infantry,” laughed Hepton, showing his strong, 132 white teeth. “Let those fellers on the Drab try it, if they want to see what we’ve got.”
The seventy-footer was shutting off speed now, going slowly into the mouth of the little river. Almost immediately afterwards her reverse was applied, after which she swung at anchor.
Tom, too, without a word to Hank, who stood by the wheel, reached over, slowing the “Restless” down to a gait of something like eight miles an hour.
“What’s the order, sir?” he asked, turning to Mr. Seaton. “Are we to go in and anchor alongside?”