As progress would be slow up the trail and Mr. Dacre’s limb was still too painful to permit him to ride fast, no time was wasted after this, and ten minutes after they had received final instructions, Mr. Dacre and his younger nephew rode off. This time, however, the riders carried weapons. Mr. Chillingworth would have liked to go with them, but he was compelled to take the sloop around to her home anchorage, not liking to leave her alone in the cove. If the schooner, for instance, had dropped in there, her crew were quite capable of scuttling the little craft, just to show that they were men to be reckoned with.
Shortly after they had waved farewells to the horsemen, who speedily vanished into the curtain of pine woods and brush, the sloop set sail. Out past the point she beat, with a fair wind swelling her sails. Tom, who was quite handy about a boat, acted as “sheet tender,” while Mr. Chillingworth minded the helm. Before long they were outside the cove and plunging along through the big swells that the brisk wind had heaped up in the open water outside.
It was exhilarating sailing. The handy little craft fairly flew along, every now and then bucking a big sea and drenching herself with glittering spray.
But all this, pleasant as it was, held her back a good deal, so that when darkness fell it still found them some little distance from the anchorage they had hoped to reach by sundown.
“Never mind,” said Mr. Chillingworth. “I know this coast like a book. Tom, keep a good look out forward, my boy, and when you see a big, lone pine standing up against the sky on top of that range of hills yonder, let me know. That pine is a landmark for my harbor.”
But supper—a sandwich and a cup of coffee—grabbed in the intervals of working the boat, was eaten, and still no sign of the lone pine could be made out.
“I’ll beat out a bit and come in again on another tack,” decided Mr. Chillingworth finally. “We’re getting too close in shore for my liking. There are a great many rocks and shoals running out from land hereabouts.”
Accordingly, the sloop was put about and headed out into the open Sound. The wind had by this time freshened considerably. So much so, in fact, that before long it became necessary to take in the jib they were carrying and set a smaller one—a storm-sail. As this was an operation requiring some knowledge of boat handling, the helm was given to Tom, while Mr. Chillingworth himself went forward, dragging a big bundle of sailcloth.
As he left the cockpit, Tom noticed—or thought he noticed—some dark object coming up astern of them. Before long all doubt was removed. It was a dark spire of canvas, the sails of a vessel of some kind that he had espied. She seemed to be coming up at a tremendous rate, too. Even in the darkness he noted the white water as it frothed under her forefoot. To his surprise, the boy noticed, too, that she carried no lights. This, however, did not bother him as the sloop’s lights had been placed into the forestays some time before, and shone out brightly.
However, he called Mr. Chillingworth’s attention to the approaching vessel. The rancher eyed her keenly, pausing in his work on the wet, pitching foredeck to do so.