“Well,” he added with a low, rumbling laugh. “We were lookin’ for ’em. Now we found ’em, we don’t want ’em. Come on, an’ mind you, never a sound!”
CHAPTER XVII
TRAPPED
“It’s no use. We’re in for it.” Five minutes later MacGregor dropped his oars. From some spot close to that dark bulk against the sky had come the throb of a motor.
“Rusty, me child,” the old man’s voice was very gentle. “Be sure those golden locks of yours are well tucked in. Whatever you do, don’t remove that sou’wester. For the present you are a boy. You must not forget.”
“I—I won’t forget.” Rusty’s fingers were busy with her hair.
“I only hope,” the old man added soberly, “that my guess is wrong.”
Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when a smart little motor boat, bright with red and white paint, hove into view. And on the deck, scarcely less smart in brass buttons and braid, stood a small man with slanting eyes.
Those eyes appeared a trifle startled at sight of MacGregor. “A thousand pardons.” The little man’s voice was smooth as oil. “What is that which you wish?”
“Only a few gallons of gasoline,” said MacGregor.
The lightning change on the little man’s face was startling. It was as if a dagger had suddenly flashed from his belt, yet his tone was smooth as before.