A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK
"Give me a hand down here, Atherton," exclaimed Mr Buckley. "We can't wait for a rope this time."
Without mishap the Scouts and the Scoutmaster descended the jagged cliff by the same path that the luckless Bill had so lately ascended.
Hauled up on a shelving ledge and practically awash by the rising tide, was the canvas boat. It seemed a flimsy craft to hold five persons, but reassured by Mr Buckley's word the Scouts embarked.
There were but two oars, and these were short; the boat was deeply laden, and progress was, in consequence, slow. Before they were thirty yards from the cliff the Scouts heard the clanking of a windlass. The sole occupant of the yacht, alarmed at the commotion ashore, was weighing anchor.
"He means to start the motor and leave his comrades to their fate," exclaimed Mr Buckley. "Put your backs into it, lads."
Desperately the fellow worked the windlass, but unfortunately for him there was good scope of chain out. Ere half of it was inboard, the canvas boat swept under the yacht's counter and ranged up alongside his starboard quarter.
"Surrender!" shouted the Scoutmaster.
The man's only reply was to drop the handle of the winch, snatch up the gun from the deck and present it full at Mr Buckley's head.
"Won't do, my man," exclaimed the Scoutmaster affably. "We know there isn't a single cartridge on board."