CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THIEVES IN THE NIGHT
BILLY had a habit of waking about dawn and stepping out of his tent to look around and gauge the weather for the day. So, it happened about three o’clock one morning, that he indulged in his usual nocturnal survey.
The bay was calm in that still dark hour before dawn. Bill was about to retire after making his prognostications when the muffled chugging of a motor-launch and the sound of a boat bumping against something in the back bay off the float-stage, instantly rendered him alert.
He knew the Islanders were wrapped in slumber so he investigated, creeping down under cover of the firs to a vantage point near the shore.
It was too dark to see anything, but the muffled sounds convinced Billy that somebody was “monkeying” with their precious lobsters.
Quietly he stole back and woke the Captain and the boys. With many cautions for silence, they slipped into trousers and sweaters, thrust feet into sneakers, and rushed to surprise the marauders—Billy not forgetting his rifle.
The unavoidable sounds made by the Islanders in leaving the float-stage were warning enough, so before they were well off in Billy’s launch the strange craft was flying toward the south.
“It’s up with our main-topsails, lads, and after her away,” sang Billy in his glory as he gave the engine more gas.
They could not seem to lessen the distance between the escaping thieves and their own boat, however, even though the pursuers, knowing the local waters well, were able to take some short cuts.
“Well, their launch is a lee-tle speedier than mine,” wofully admitted Billy.