CHAPTER XXIX
WHEN THE TIDE TURNED
The wind fell as the tide drained out, and belts of mist hung motionless about the sands when the whammel boat crept slowly down to the mouth of the channel. The sail lay on deck, and Dick panted as he pulled an oar while his companion sculled astern. He felt faint, and the heavily ballasted boat was hard to move, but he thought the tide was turning now and he knew that he must hold out. Occasionally he turned and looked ahead, but saw nothing except the mist. There were no birds about, the water was smooth, and everything was very quiet. At length, a tall mast grew out of the haze and Dick stopped rowing.
"The Rowan. Scull her in to the bank," he said. "I want to see where the dinghy is."
They could not find her, but presently came upon a whammel boat lying near the edge of the sand.
"It's the Nance that Tam Grahame selt awa'," the fisherman remarked. "I canna' see what she's doing here with naebody on board."
"We'll pull off to the yacht," Dick replied.
The dinghy was not astern when they boarded the Rowan; and when Dick went below and lighted a lamp, his companion looked puzzled.
"It's queer! There's seeven feet o' watter, and Mr. Andrew wouldna' swim ashore."