"O, no!" replied the chief; "that would be throwing away money: we'll bring her down here and hide her."
"That's dangerous," said Atkins. "Bob'll make a powerful fuss when he finds out that his boat is gone; an' if we should be diskivered"——. Atkins finished the sentence by shrugging his shoulders, and shaking his head significantly.
"We'd best burn her, or sink her in the bay," said Jack Spaniard, "an' then nobody can't prove nothin' agin us."
"That'll only be throwin' away money fur nothin'," repeated the governor. "No one in the village knows any thing about this yere cave, an' so they won't think of lookin' here fur her. When the fuss has kinder died out, we'll paint the boat over, give her a new name, an' sell her to somebody an' divide the profits. In that way, we can raise a few dollars to help along the expedition, you know."
This last remark decided the argument in Sam's favor. The members of the band all had the good of the expedition at heart, and any thing that promised to advance its interests, no matter how much danger it might bring to themselves, was heartily supported. They spent a few moments in talking over the details of their plan, especially the course they ought to adopt to secure the skiff without arousing any of the inmates of the fisher-boy's cabin, and then, blowing out the light, they crawled out of the cave, stepped into the yawl, and pulled for the beach. The governor, being the best oarsman, again assumed the management of the boat, while the others, as before, stretched themselves out under the thwarts. This precaution was always adopted in going to and from the cave, for they wisely reasoned that if five boys should be seen making nightly visits to Mr. Newcombe's wharf, it might attract attention, which would lead to an investigation, and the discovery of their hiding-place.
Under the chief's skillful guidance, the yawl passed through the shipping and cleared the harbor in safety; and, in accordance with the plans they had decided upon before leaving the cave, Sam kept the boat headed out to sea until the cabins on the beach were lost to view in the darkness; then he turned, and pursued a course parallel with the shore for about a quarter of a mile, when he again headed the yawl toward the village. By these maneuvers, he hoped to reach the fisher-boy's wharf without attracting the notice of any persons who might happen to be walking on the beach.
Long experience had made Sam a capital hand to manage expeditions of this kind, and, knowing that it was not best to be in too great a hurry, he became more cautious than ever in his movements. He kept the yawl moving very slowly, and so silently that even the four boys who were crouching in the bow could not detect the slightest splashing in the water. In half an hour they came within sight of Bob's home, which was shrouded in total darkness. In front of the cabin they saw the Go Ahead No. 2 made fast to what the fisher-boy called his wharf, which was nothing more nor less than a heavy stake driven into the sand. A few more silent sweeps of the oar brought them to the beach, and Sam turned the yawl around until the stems of both boats were so close together that the boys could step from one to the other.
"Now, Jack Bennett," he whispered, "make fast to the skiff. Bill Stevens, jump ashore and cast off. Don't make too much noise."
The boys addressed began to bestir themselves, and, while Jack got out a rope with which to make fast to their prize, Bill climbed over the stern of the yawl into the skiff, and thence to the shore, where he discovered a difficulty at once: one end of a heavy chain was made fast to the skiff's bow by a staple, and the other was wound around the stake and confined by a padlock.
"Sam," he whispered, "she's chained up tighter'n a brick!"