Nearer and nearer came the sound. Prentiss was enough of a salt-water boy to know that the craft must be a more than usually fast one. The strange craft was evidently keeping in close to shore. At last, the keen-eyed boy grimly made out a sea-going tug. Then she came nearer, and Jed knew that she was going to pass within an eighth of a mile.
“It must be the filibustering steamer,” throbbed the boy. “She’s not a Government boat, yet she’s showing no lights. That boat must be making for Sanderson’s pier!”
Then, all of a sudden, a single light did show. An electric searchlight blazed out, sweeping its ray along the coast. It was hardly a moment before that ray of light fell across the “Meteor” and remained there.
“Wow!” ejaculated Jed, in his excitement. “Now, those fellows can get in here before I can signal any of our crowd back to the ‘Meteor.’”
Prentiss immediately found himself trembling. He sprang down into the engine room, intent on starting the motor. In his excitable state of mind it seemed to him that the motor had at least a dozen drive wheels and no end of other things that had to be handled.
“And, oh, dear! I haven’t got the anchor up!” he groaned. He rushed up onto deck, only to find that the tug had started ahead again, and was bearing down directly upon him. Three men could be dimly made out forward of the pilot house.
“They’re going to bear down upon this craft and sink her!” guessed Jed. “And, confound ’em, they can do it before I can get up anchor, get the engine going, and get out of here!”
That it was the intention of those aboard the tug to ram the “Meteor,” and thus put her out of commission, seemed decidedly plain. The tug was steaming slow but straight for the motor boat. Jed paused in a frenzy of uncertainty.
Then, all in a flash, a luminous idea came to him. It looked almost crazy, yet it was the only thing that it seemed possible to do. Bending down the signal rocket box, Jed grasped a piece of slow-match. This he lighted, his fingers trembling. Then, as swiftly, he unfastened the lower hook of that rocket trough. He was able, thus, to swivel the trough over the port rail.
“Now, we’ll see if the scheme’s any good,” quivered Jed, snatching up a rocket and resting it in the trough. Groping for his slow-match, he sighted along the stick of the rocket. Shaking, he applied the glowing end of the slow-match to the rocket’s fuse. There was a sputtering, then a hiss.