“Please don’t remind me of my idiocy again until I’ve had time to pull up a notch,” begged Tremaine.
The two Tampa officers had seated themselves together at the forward end of the car. They were lean, quiet men, of undying nerve, and crack shots in the moment of need.
It did not take long to haul the one-car special down to the port. As the train began to run out onto the long mole, all hands in the car crowded at the forward doorway.
Before the engine came to a full stop Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson were off and running at a great burst of speed for the extreme end of the mole. Halstead was the first to gain it.
“The ‘Buzzard’ is gone from anchorage,” he cried, as his gaze swept the harbor.
“That little bit of hull we can see away down past the harbor looks like the ‘Buzzard’ heading south,” declared Joe.
“It must be,” nodded Tom Halstead. “But Jeff will very likely know.”
A busily-throbbing little naphtha launch was hovering close in the water.
“Hurry in for a fare, can you?” shouted Captain Halstead, framing his mouth with his hands.
The launch turned in at the float, and by this time the other members of the party had hastened up.