“What's that nonsense,” broke in Captain Sullivan, “a harbor behind False Middle Island?”
“Yes,” Dick replied, “a good one.”
“You'd better tell that to the Hydrographic Office.”
“I don't need to tell it to anybody. I've been in there with my schooner.”
“When was that, young man?”
“This month.”
The Captain turned away with a shrug, and joined his lieutenant on the bridge. “We 'll make for False Middle Island, Mr. Ericsen, just beyond Seventy Mile Point.”
“Very well, sir.”
Deliberately, very deliberately, the Foote coughed and rumbled northward, and Milwaukee fell away astern. She could not hope to catch the Merry Anne if the southerly breeze should hold. The schooner was running light, and even though she might have made but eighty or ninety miles during the night, she was by this time more than abreast of Milwaukee, and on the east side of the Lake, where she had the advantage in the run for the Straits of Mackinac.
“Do you think,” asked Beveridge, when the Captain had gone to the bridge, “that we can overhaul her in the Straits?”