"I'll get some coffee and then we'll talk," he said.
Coming back in a few minutes with a jug, he sat down on the stern-gratings.
"To begin with, can you hide the boat?" he asked.
"Not properly. There are one or two creeks, but they'd, so to speak, invite examination. On the whole, I'd sooner trust an open beach. Columbine's low hull and masts won't be very distinct against a background of forest. I'm steering for an anchorage behind some shoals."
Marston signed agreement. "Larrinaga can't keep the tug searching the coast; he'll send her back for supplies. I expect he knows how to reach the Bat."
"It's possible. He has spies and the German Colonel has, no doubt, made careful plans. There are two routes; east and west of the high ground, and I reckon he'll send the cazadores up in two columns. The first will probably try to get behind the Bat's position."
"Then, we'll strike one column's line of march," said Marston, thoughtfully. "In fact, since we must come back, we'll strike it twice."
"Yes. I see some advantage in this. Our taking their path won't matter when we go up, because we'll be in front, and we agreed that the time of our arrival is important. We must give the Bat just long enough to reach the coast before the soldiers turn back and cut us off. I expect it will mean our pushing across the hills for some distance. When we cross their line we'll be in front again."
Marston signified his agreement by a nod. It was plain that they must leave much to luck, and lighting his pipe, he leaned against the rail. As the sun rose the mist ahead began to melt. Wooded heights rose out of the streaming vapor and presently Wyndham found the marks he wanted and went off to sleep while Marston kept his anxious watch. It was now nearly calm. Sometimes a puff of wind ruffled the water; sometimes the sails hung slack and the ripple at the bows died away. The sun got hot, the smooth swell shimmered with reflected light, and nothing indicated when the sea-breeze would begin.
The calm, however, would not stop the tug, and Marston pictured her steaming up from San Cristobal with engines thumping hard and the empty lighters astern. News of Columbine's departure had, no doubt, reached the mission; bugles would be calling and the cazadores strapping on their equipment ready to start. Still it was a long march to the harbor and Marston hardly thought the troops would embark before nightfall. If wind would come, Wyndham might keep in front of them, but in the meantime Columbine hardly moved. Marston wondered whether they ought to hoist out the gig and tow, although the labor would be exhausting and they could not make much progress.