“You’re right,” said Jimmy. “What’s to be done?”
“The best plan would be for you and Hank to get the pumps ashore while there’s fog enough to hide you. Then you can slip the buoy and leave it among the boulders abreast of the wreck. I’ll keep our friend away from the water; but the high ground where the nests are looks down on the beach and you’ll have the steamer not far outshore of you.”
Turning at a footstep, Jimmy saw the stranger leave the hut.
“My partner will take you to the nests,” he said. “I have something to do on board.”
Beckoning Moran, Jimmy turned away, and as the two went down to the beach he explained his object to the fisherman. Moran agreed that if news of their doings leaked out, they might as well give up the search. They must, however, be careful, because there was a chance of their being seen by anybody with good glasses on board the yacht, which had moved close in to shorten the journey for the boat. Now and then they could see her white hull plainly, but it grew dim and faded into the mist again.
Boarding the sloop, they dismantled the pumps, and then found that with these, the lead weights, and the diving helmet, the small dory had a heavy load. The tide was, however, falling, and for some distance it carried them down a smooth channel between banks of uncovered sand. They had no trouble here, but when they reached open water they found a confused swell running against them. The fog had again thickened and they could see only the gray slopes of water that moved out of the haze. It was hard work rowing, and care was needed when an undulation curled and broke into a ridge of foam. If that happened before they could avoid it, the dory might be overturned; and the water was icy cold. They toiled across a broad shallow, sounding with the oars, until they lost touch of the bottom and pulled by guess for a spot where landing was safe.
Soon it seemed that they had gone astray, for they could see nothing of the beach and a harsh rattle broke out close ahead. Moran stopped rowing.
“Tide has run us well offshore,” he said. “The yacht skipper’s shortening cable or going to break out his anchor. Guess he’s swung into shoaler water than he figured on.”
While they waited and the tide carried them along, the rattle of the windlass grew louder; and when it stopped, a dim, white shape crept out of the fog. It increased in size and distinctness; they could see the sweeping curve of bow, the trickle of the stream along the waterline, and the low deckhouse above the rail. There was no avoiding the yacht by rowing away without being seen, but the dory was very small and low in the water.
“They’ve hove her short and found another fathom, and I expect they’re satisfied,” Jimmy said; “but they’ll keep good anchor watch. The best thing we can do is to lie down in the bottom.”