THE “Rocket” was now drifting, while those aboard watched developments in the ocean game ahead.
“I don’t quite understand what it profits us if Frank is sent aboard the schooner as a prisoner,” insisted Mr. Moddridge.
“Well, if the launch crowd do that, and then the launch heads back for the coast, passing out of sight of things hereabouts, it’s going to be rather easy for a fast boat like ours to keep up with a sailing schooner, isn’t it?” Captain Tom propounded.
“Yes, but how are we going to help Frank Delavan any?” demanded the nervous one. “There must be men aboard the schooner, and undoubtedly they’re armed, which we’re not.”
“We’ll have to see what happens, and use our ingenuity,” Tom replied.
“Humph!” said Mr. Moddridge, sadly. “I’d rather have one small cannon than all the ingenuity in the world, just now.”
Knowing that nothing could happen right away, Hank Butts coolly stretched himself on the mattress to finish his interrupted nap. Tom and Joe remained intently watching the mastheads of the two craft that were miles away.
“The launch is surely making straight for the schooner,” Joe Dawson ventured. “Your guess is all right, Tom.”
Within a few minutes more the mastheads were mingled to the view of the young observers aboard the “Rocket.” The two suspected craft remained together for nearly half an hour.
“Now, they’re breaking apart,” Halstead reported, at last, watching through the glass. “The launch is turning. She’s making back west. And now, old fellow, it’s us for a more southerly course. We must keep out of the launch’s sight, but never for an instant lose the schooner’s mastheads. For, if Francis Delavan isn’t aboard that schooner now I shall never feel at liberty to make a guess again. Take the wheel, Joe, and start her up. Keep to the southwest. I’ll keep my eye mainly on the launch’s masthead.”