CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A NARROW ESCAPE
“You got time to cross yonder an’ hide in de marsh,” Uncle Mose told Kitty and Brad when they heard the sound of the approaching motorboat.
“Let’s get going,” said Kitty, picking up her oar. “You’d better hide your tobacco and new pipe, Uncle Mose.”
“Yas’m, sho will.” The old man’s sunken eyes turned toward the inlet. “You kin hear de motorboat a long time ’fore she come in sight.”
“I’m glad you told us what you did, Uncle Mose,” said Kitty. “Don’t you worry. Mr. Beeson will never buy this island.”
“T’ank de Lawd! You tell young Massa I keep de trus’ an’ look atter de place like he ask me to.”
Brad was impatient to be off, and Kitty bent her back to the oar as he pulled away from the little harbor. Glancing at Uncle Mose before they turned a point in the shore, she saw him waving his battered felt hat at them and pointing straight across the marsh.
Instead of turning north by the way they had come they headed for the tide-filled creeks that cut the marshy wastelands into jig-saw patterns. They could have used the motor for greater speed, but Kitty knew the noise would carry for quite a distance across the empty wastes. Not until they had gone almost a mile up one of the winding creeks did they pause behind the shelter of some tall marsh grass.
“Hope we don’t get stuck in here,” said Brad. “Tide’s so low.”
“But it’s already turned. That’s a help.” She rubbed her tired hands together a moment and said, “Uncle Mose gave us an earful, didn’t he?”