Now, as quickly, the two boat-tenders rowed back to the Drab, and the boats were triced up in a twinkling.
“Say, they’ve got their anchor up!” cried Hank Butts, in a breathless undertone. “They’re going to scoot out on us.”
“Then I’m ready to bet,” muttered Tom Halstead, “that neither of the muffled men that went ashore was Anson Dalton. They must be trying to throw our crowd off the trail, and now that seventy-footer is trying to get off with Dalton still aboard!”
Whatever the plan was, the Drab was now backing out of the river mouth and swinging around. So far none of her sailing lights were in evidence. She looked more like a pirate craft 139 slinking out into the night on an errand of dire mischief.
Once out of the mouth of the river, the Drab swung around, then began to move ahead. By this time her prow was head-on for the “Restless,” as though aimed to strike the latter craft amidships.
Then, as the Drab’s speed increased, Tom Halstead vented excitedly:
“Jupiter! They’re out to cut us in two while we ride here at anchor!”