The Rival Campers; Or, The Adventures of Henry Burns

by Ruel Perley Smith

He had come from some other island, or the mainland, then, and, as was evident, he was in desperate haste to return. He must, then, have a boat, presumably a sailboat, waiting for him, and that boat must be moored somewhere along the western shore of the island. The man’s haste and fear of being delayed argued that he had been up to some bad business, “Thieving at the hotel, perhaps,” said Harvey.

And then Harvey, knowing every bush and tree and nook and corner, and every rock and cove on all the shores of the island, ran over quickly in his mind the inlets along the coast, to pick out the most likely spot he knew of where a man might choose to moor his yacht and steal ashore; and the proof of his accurate knowledge was that the mental picture he drew of the place was that very cove toward which the stranger was now travelling, and where there lay snugly at anchor the strange yacht.

With this clearly in mind, Jack Harvey resolved to follow in pursuit, although the man had now some ten minutes the start. Harvey had the advantage, however, that, whereas the man knew only the general direction he must take, to Harvey every inch of the way was as familiar as the ground around his own camp. For instance, he knew, when the way led through Captain Coombs’s grove of woods, that through the centre, the most direct way, it was boggy and hard travelling, and that one could save from one to three minutes by skirting along the end nearest the town, and going through there in a smoothly travelled path.

Again, and most profitable of all, there was full five minutes to be gained by swimming the narrow opening of Gull Cove, instead of following the line of the shore in the way it spread out in the shape of a huge pear. At the point which the stem of the pear would represent, the passage from the bay into the cove, it was only a matter of two rods wide.

Jack Harvey did not even stop to remove his trousers, blue blouse, and tennis shoes, but plunged in and swam across.

What he had gained by this was soon apparent, for, as he ascended the top of a low bank on the farther shore, he saw running along the beach, not many rods distant, the man whom he was pursuing.

Now the chase had become simplified and was easy for the rest of the way. There could be no doubt of the man’s destination. Jack Harvey, covering himself with rock and tree, made no effort to come up with him, but took his time in following, knowing where he should ultimately find him.

Presently Harvey left the shore, ascended the bank to a roadway which led down the island, followed it for a few rods, cut across a narrow strip of field, seated himself deliberately upon a gnarled tree-trunk, and looked out upon a tiny inlet that was just discernible through the bushes.

There, of a certainty, lay a pretty sloop at anchor, and presently there came to Harvey’s ears the creaking of the halyards and of the ropes in the blocks as the mainsail fluttered up.

“He’s in a tearing rush to get away, sure enough,” muttered Harvey. “Now he is getting up the anchor, and slatting it up in lively style, too. But he is a stronger man than I am, there’s no mistake about that,” and Harvey felt of two lumps on his head that bore witness to the man’s violence.