“There’s no reason why you boys can’t take the boat by yourselves,” he urged. “You’re both experienced at handling the tiller, and good swimmers. Go ahead! Only don’t go too far from the Yacht Club. A storm could kick up before dusk.”
Fortifying themselves with bottles of pop, Dan and Brad hoisted sail and cast off. With Brad at the tiller, they sailed down the channel, past Fish Island, and on toward Skeleton Island. They had been anxious to explore this island for some time.
Dan lounged in the bottom of the boat, lazily sipping his drink.
“Let’s sail all the way around Skeleton Island,” he proposed. “Okay?”
“Sure, if we have time,” Brad agreed, glancing at the darkening sky. “Those clouds are rolling up rather fast though. We might have rain in a couple of hours.”
“We’ll make it back before then,” Dan replied, stretching luxuriously. “The breeze is just right now.”
In a long tack, they crossed to the far shore of the river and came about, pointing toward Skeleton Island.
As Dan dropped an empty pop bottle overboard, he noticed a mahogany motorboat almost directly opposite the island.
The craft had pulled up along shore, its motor idle. The boy was unable to see the occupants or to obtain a clear view of the boat itself, for it lay half-hidden in a clump of bushes.
“That boat looks a little like Mr. Manheim’s,” he remarked, calling Brad’s attention to it. “Wonder what it’s doing over there? No one appears to be fishing.”