“What in the world will she be anchored there for?” he asked in an astonished voice. “If she’s hove to to ride out the storm, why doesn’t she come into the cove?”
“Just what puzzled me,” said Nat. “I watched her from behind some sand dunes, but not a sign of life could I see on her decks. She looks like a fishing schooner, and yet there are no dories piled up on her deck, which makes it look all the more odd.”
“They’ve let go the anchor with all sails set,” murmured Nate, “and they dropped that mudhook like a cat stalking mice.”—Page 232.
“It does that,” agreed Nate; “and anyhow, fishermen wouldn’t heave to for this bit of a blow.”
“I’ll tell you what, Nate,” said Nat presently, “suppose you go and take a look at her. Then come back and tell us how you size her up. You’re sailorman enough to know a craft by the cut of her jib, and maybe you will know what vessel this is.”
“All right,” assented Nate cheerfully. “I’ll slip into my oilers, get around there and be back in two shakes of a duck’s tail.”
“And, oh, Nate, don’t show yourself if you can help it. There’s plenty of cover behind the salt grass that grows on the dunes.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Nate assured him, “I’ll be as invisible as Mort Kennedy, who owes me ten dollars, is every payday.”
The sturdy fellow strode out into the storm, leaving the two boys alone.