Captain Vinton shook his head slowly.
“You can’t never tell ’bout tarpon,” he answered. “Sometimes they will, then ag’in they won’t. Mostly they’ll do as they durn please, which is likely to be jest w’at you don’t want ’em to do. One thing, though: we’re goin’ to have wuss weather afore we have better, mark my words.”
Hearing this, Dave grunted dolefully.
Vinton’s remarks about the tarpon seemed to be verified, for the boys had such poor luck in getting bites that presently they made their lines fast by wedging the poles under the thwarts and turned their attention to a faint blur of smoke rising far out against the brilliant blue horizon.
“Wonder if Cap’n Bego really did git out?” said Vinton, as if communing with himself.
But Norton overhead the query. “Who’s Captain Bego?” he inquired casually.
“Oh, he’s a greaser who’s been havin’ some trouble with a United States revenue cutter from Havana. Cutter’s the Eagle. If Uncle Sam gits after Bego ag’in, there’ll be one set o’ rascils turned back, I reckon.”
“You mean——”
“Filibusters,” was the startling answer.