So now, with the sun still low and the fog, it seemed, thicker than ever before, they slipped out of the snug little natural harbor into the great unknown that is any sea in time of fog.
Standing at the wheel, Johnny watched the dark circle of water about them. Ever they moved forward, yet never did this circle grow larger. It was strange.
There was life at this circle. Now a whole fleet of eider-ducks, resting on their way north, came drifting into view. With a startled quack-quack they stirred up a great splatter, then went skimming away.
And now a seal with small round head and whiskers like a cat came to the surface to stare at them.
“Not worth much, that fellow,” was MacGregor’s comment. “Not much more hair than a pig.
“But look, Johnny!” his voice rose. “There’s a real fur seal. His hide’s worth a pretty penny. Wouldn’t have it long either, if those Orientals sighted him. We used to have a hot time with ’em over the seals. Had to pay ’em to get ’em to leave the seals alone. That was a shame. Have to do the same with the salmon, like as not. We—
“Look, Johnny! What’s that?” His voice suddenly dropped to a whisper, as if he believed the fog had ears. “Right over to the left, Johnny. Ease ’er over that way.”
“Another seal,” said Johnny.
“It’s no seal,” MacGregor whispered. “Johnny!” His whisper rose. “We got ’em. It’s a net marker. Inside the three-mile limit. An’ it’s none of Red McGee’s net markers either.”
“That—that’s right,” the boy breathed.