Tom bent to the oars and pulled with a will. The small boat cut over the water merrily.
After a while Tom paused. They looked about them.
“My, Tom, we’re a long way from the White Shark,” exclaimed Jack.
“Well, didn’t I tell you I was a strong rower? I must have pulled your lazy anatomy a good four miles.”
“Well, let’s try fishing. If they signal us we can hear it from here.”
“Oh, sure. Come on; bet you I get the first fish.”
“Bet you a doughnut you don’t. Ah, see there!”
Tom drew aboard a fine red snapper. It lay flapping in the bottom of the boat, its bright golden scales glinting, while the boys gazed at it admiringly.
And all the time a danger they never dreamed of was sweeping down on them like a thief in the night, silent and unseen.