The outboard runabout moved away from the pier and into the creek. Steve knew his way perfectly, and he opened the throttle to half speed, steering through the curve at the mouth of the creek, rounding the buoy, and heading directly toward Swamp Creek.
It had taken the houseboat over twenty minutes to make the run. Steve covered the distance in ten. As he throttled down and swung the runabout into Swamp Creek, Rick's eye picked up a glimmer of light, then the shape of something white cruising toward them.
For a moment he stared into the lessening gloom, then said, "It's Orvil Harris. Anyway, it looks like his boat."
Steve said nothing for a moment, then he headed directly toward the crabber. As the two boats closed, Harris paused in his crabbing and watched the three in the runabout approach.
Steve matched the crab boat's speed and nudged the runabout alongside. "Howdy," he called.
Orvil Harris reached out and caught the runabout's gunwale, then took the line Rick passed to him. He made it fast around a cleat. "Up early," he greeted them. "Come to watch me crab?"
"Not exactly," Rick returned. "Mr. Harris, this is Mr. Ames."
The crabber reached out a muscular hand and Steve stretched to meet it. "Mighty pretty place you have on Martins Creek," Harris said. "Admired it many's the time."
"Thanks," Steve returned. "Be glad to have you drop in any time."
"I may do that. Thanks."