“Thank you,” grinned Joe; “and now let me go on to say that in my opinion he’ll make for some cove.”
“Of which there are none too many hereabouts,” responded Nat. “Let’s see, which one is the nearest?”
“Why, Whale Inlet, in the salt meadows beyond Point Conception.”
“That’s right, but he’d hardly know of that unless he is more familiar with this coast than it is reasonable to suppose.”
“But having observed what the conditions were along the beach and realizing that he couldn’t negotiate the surf, he’d be likely to go hunting for such an inlet, wouldn’t he?”
“Sounds reasonable. But the point is just this, why wouldn’t he go toward Santa Barbara itself?”
“Why, because, if he’s as shrewd as I think he is, he will have guessed that we have sent out a wireless alarm for him by this time.”
“But how does he know we have such an apparatus?”
“Just this. If for no other reason, he knows we picked up that wireless from the Iroquois, that message that got us into all this pickle.”
Before Nat could reply, the sailor whom they had rescued with his employers the night before, and who had been standing with Mr. Anderson on the bridge, gave an exclamation.