Caleb was too anxious to keep still at all, but tramped back and forth, occasionally making trips to the wheelman’s turret in which he had stationed Mr. Coffin and one of the sailors, so as to have no delay in starting, no matter what should happen.
“By Jove, this beats blockade running at Savannah in the sixties,” muttered the first mate, after one of his commander’s anxious trips to the forward turret to see that all was right. “This youngster they’re taking all this trouble for must be a most remarkable boy.”
“There’s two fellows watching the steamer from the wharf,” Caleb declared, entering the cabin again.
Just then there was a sound outside, and a heavy knock sounded at the cabin door. Caleb pulled it open in an instant.
Without stood three burly police officers.
“Well, well!” exclaimed Mr. Pepper, in wonder.
“What do you want?” Caleb demanded, inclined to be a little combative.
“Beg pardon, sir,” said the spokesman of the two, nodding respectfully to Mr. Pepper, “but we’ve been sent to search the steamer for a boy against whom this man holds a warrant,” and the officer motioned to a third individual who stood without. It was the deputy sheriff.
“Very well,” said Mr. Pepper quietly.
“Search and be hanged,” growled Caleb, glowering at the man with the warrant. “If you can find him you’ll have better luck than we.”