“It’s funny about Barry,” said Nelson softly. “You’d think they’d have got rid of him.”
“Oh, he probably made friends,” answered Bob. “I’m glad he did. They might have thrown him overboard.”
“How many do you suppose there are?” asked Nelson as he opened the switch, shut off the gasoline and allowed the Sylph to glide silently toward the enemy. Bob shook his head. Tom wanted to talk but realized that in his present excited state it would be idle to make the attempt. “I don’t believe there are more than two,” continued Nelson. “If there were, one of them would be sure to be up on deck.”
“Suppose they’ll show fight?” asked Bob.
“I hope they do,” answered Nelson earnestly, “I just hope they do!”
“Well, but I don’t want any pistols flashed on me,” muttered Bob. “Get ready, Tommy. I’ll go forward and make fast. If we can sneak on board quietly and shut the doors and lock them maybe we can make terms.”
“Good scheme,” whispered Nelson. “You and Tom keep her from bumping and I’ll make a stab at it.”
The Sylph was scarcely more than moving now and for a moment or two it looked as though she would not reach the other boat without having her engine started again. All three kept very still, their eyes fixed intently on the nine oval port lights. They were all open and every moment Tom expected to see a revolver spring into glittering view through one of them. But they all remained empty and the two boats were less than three yards apart when their plan to maintain silence was frustrated by Barry.
Once as they approached he had raised his head lazily and viewed them with calm indifference, promptly returning to his slumber or day-dreaming. But now he suddenly sprang to his feet and gave the alarm in the form of a challenging bark that was half a growl. Bob raised a warning hand.
“Barry!” he whispered hoarsely. “Shut up, sir!”