“Certainly. It’s not mere surmise now. What Uncle Mose told us bears out accurately the theories we’ve been forming.”
“You’re right, Brad.” Even though they had prided themselves on their discoveries so far, Kitty had to admit that the affair was now too dangerous for them to handle. She could never forgive herself if, through their bungling, Uncle Mose lost his life.
“But we’ve got to get out of here first,” said Brad. “It’s beginning to look as though we’re in for a real blow, Kit.”
“A real sou’easter.”
Suddenly Brad half rose and peered above the strip of marsh grass behind which they were hiding. “Listen, Kit, sounds like Beeson’s boat is coming right in here.”
“Good heavens! What’ll we do?”
She crawled over to the stern locker and hunted for the field glasses. As she adjusted them she stood in the boat and scanned the western horizon. Finally she concentrated her gaze on a section of the inlet near the pine bluff.
“No. He isn’t in the marshes. Even with the wind taking the sound from us, the bluff must be a sort of sounding board to throw it back.”
“We’ll have to be careful—wind’s blowing from us to him,” cautioned Brad.
She let Brad have the glasses and he watched while Beeson towed the barge to the dock. “Uncle Mose is already there to carry the food scraps up to the hogs,” he explained as he watched.