“Nor a bird either. That’s a human sound.”
“Like someone trying to start a motor.”
“Just that.”
For a time the sound ceased. Then it began again.
“Over to the left.” Once again Johnny took up the oars. This time he rowed slowly, silently. No telling whose motor had stalled. Fisherman, trapper, or Oriental? Who could tell?
Four times the sound ceased. Four times Johnny’s oars rested on the surface of the water.
When, at last, a small, dark spot appeared on the surface of the sea, Johnny fairly ceased to breathe.
“Heck!” said a voice in that fog.
“Doesn’t sound like an Oriental,” Johnny whispered.
“Fisherman nor trapper either,” replied MacGregor.