“Sam! Sam!” shouted all three. They saw the colored man turn and look toward them. Then he picked up a small megaphone that was part of the boat’s equipment and roared at them.
“I’m going away from here, sars! Yes, sar! Going from here!”
“He’s been scared almost crazy!” declared Cliff, “but he can’t go away——”
“——And leave us—and Mr. Neale!” cried Tom.
Nicky began kicking off his shoes. As he doffed coat and cap, his chums followed his example. Together they plunged into the water and swam lustily toward the Treasure Belle.
It was a race against Sam’s swift movements.
The sail was up. The anchor came in with a groan of its chain. Cliff, a few strokes in the lead, redoubled his efforts.
The Treasure Belle began to move through the water, taking a puff of wind in the early morning gusts.
Nicky and Cliff desisted from their effort. Tom, desperate, seemed fairly to race toward the stem of the moving slope—but her pace accelerated. She stood away toward the neck through which she would apparently head out toward Biscayne Bay and the open water.
From the stern Sam waved a hand in farewell!