“I sure would,” returned the man. “But I don’t see her. I hear her. Listen!”
There was a continuous, snuffling, gasping sound ahead, and the steady thump of an engine.
“I could tell that exhaust of hers anywhere,” explained the engineer. “It’s the worst on the river.”
For some time they listened to the coughing of the Piedmont. The Vixen was barely creeping along, for it was impossible to make any speed; the danger of a collision was too great.
“She seems to be cruising up and down,” said Kenyon.
“Yes; her skipper knows that this is about the best place to meet any vessel making for the Sound. They come this way to avoid the currents around Hell Gate.”
Backward and forward cruised the Vixen passing and repassing the Piedmont in the darkness. Once those on board the latter seemed to become suspicious, and she crept forward, her port and starboard lights shining through the fog.
“Hello!” cried a voice. “Who is that?”
“Don’t come any nearer,” replied the skipper of the Vixen. “I know how that old box of yours steers, Morgan.”
“Oh, is that you, Phylen? All right.”