“Did that officer have any right to take those boats in the way he did?” asked Jones. “To me it looked like a very high-handed proceeding.”
“Well, it wasn’t. They knew what they were about. City policemen very often arrest people on what they call ‘general principles’; that is, because they look suspicious or act so. These officers have the same authority. If Barr had been an unlicensed gunner, they would have arrested him for having that sink-boat in his possession; but as he has a permit to use it on certain days of the week, they could only take it away from him because they suspected him of big-gunning. If they fail to make out a case against him, Barr will get his boat back. He’s going to put a block in his canoe and use that to-night, in place of the skiff he lost.”
Enoch and his friends, who had come prepared to stay all day, sat on the bench and watched Barr while he was at work on his canoe, and when dinner-time came they gave him a liberal portion of their lunch, in return for the terrapin which he roasted for them on the coals. They spent the afternoon in lounging on the beach and listening to Barr, who would tell a thrilling story of the dangers he had seen, and the narrow escapes he had had from destruction by the elements and capture by the police-boats, and then stop to rail at Gus Egan and his party, for finding his big gun and giving it up to the officers of the Magpie. He repeatedly declared that he would make them sorry for that, and the boys, especially Lester Brigham, would have been very badly frightened if they had known how deeply in earnest he was when he said it. Enoch knew that the duck-shooter was a man who never made idle threats. He was suspected of many dark deeds, any one of which would have landed him in the penitentiary if it could have been fastened upon him, but he never dreamed that Barr had resolved to turn his hand to something besides incendiarism this time, and that the idea had been suggested to him by the spiteful words that Lester Brigham had spoken against Don Gordon.
The hours of day-light passed slowly away, and finally darkness and a thick fog settled down over the bay. That suited Barr, who, like an owl, was lazy and slothful while the sun shone, and full of life and activity when it was out of sight. The first thing he did was to bring out his big gun, which he proceeded to charge with a load that made Lester and Jones open their eyes, and caused the former to predict that there wouldn’t be anything left of the canoe after that ponderous weapon had been fired in it. Then they went out to the sloop, and after the canoe had been hauled aboard, and the big gun placed close beside the rail, so that it could be quickly thrown overboard, in case the Magpie or one of her consorts should chance to be hovering about, the sails were hoisted and the little craft moved slowly out of the creek.
Bush River, the place at which Barr expected to load his sloop with a single discharge of his big gun, was ten miles away, and if they had been obliged to depend solely upon the wind, they would not have reached it before day-light; but the tide was in their favor, and carried them ahead at such a rate that at the end of two hours Barr began looking out for his “partner.”
“He’s around here somewhere,” said the duck-shooter, who seemed to know right where he was, although the fog and the darkness were so dense that he could not see more than twenty feet ahead of the sloop’s bow. “You see, he has been here all day watching them ducks, to keep other fellers away, and to make sure that they were going to stay long enough for me to have a pop at them.”
“I don’t see how he could keep other fellows away,” observed Lester.
“Oh, he couldn’t keep a party of ‘gentlemen sportsmen’ from firing into them, if they should happen along,” answered Enoch. “He isn’t expected to do that; but Barr isn’t the only big-gunner on the bay, and if one of that class should discover the flock, the watcher would say: ‘Those are my ducks,’ and the other fellow, would sheer off and let them alone. There’s honor even among duck-shooters, you know.”
“Enoch, give one of your low, shrill whistles,” said Barr, “and mebbe that’ll make him show up.”
The boy complied with the request, and presently an answering whistle came through the fog. Pete—that was the “partner’s” name—was on the alert, but he did not know which way to go to find the sloop. Enoch replied to all his signals, which were given at short intervals, and in a few minutes his canoe shot out of the fog and came alongside. Its occupant seemed surprised to find so large a crew aboard the sloop, but he made no remark. He knew that Barr was much too suspicious to bring any outsiders with him on an expedition like this unless he was sure they could be trusted.