The trim and pretty Water Witch rolled along, dipping her lee rail in white water, for she was rather speedy and a good sailor, while Stan, at the wheel, peered across the water towards Porpoise Island where they planned to camp out for the next week or so, cruising betimes among the wooded, lonely Catlow Islands nearby. Certain of the outlying islands on the edge of the ocean were populous summer resorts and winter colonies and had a regular steamer traffic, but Porpoise Island and the close-by islets were rarely visited, if at all, being privately owned and plastered with “Keep-off” signs. The two boys, however, being bent merely on a little harmless pleasure, saw no harm in cruising among them, and perhaps pitching a tent on one of the beaches provided they did not trespass on the land itself.
They were particularly anxious to visit Black Cove, a little known and very snug small harbor which Mr. Sandborn, Stan’s father, had noticed on a chart while the boys and the G-man were poring over the marine maps of the bay and waters around the islands a few nights ago.
“There,” Mr. Sandborn had remarked, “is something to look into. I bet I’ve studied this chart dozens of times in the last ten years, boys, and cruised some about the islands, and I never happened to notice what a perfect little harbor Black Cove should be for a small boat like yours.”
He had pointed to the spot on the chart and shown the boys that the cove had a narrow but comparatively deep channel and that the center of the land-locked little harbor was a good twenty feet deep and had a dark loam bottom. Because of the dark mud and loam under the water there the water itself would seem almost black even on clear days, thus giving the cove its name, no doubt. This Mr. Sandborn surmised from past experiences with small anchorages and different types of sea bottom.
“Sounds mysterious, too,” John had interrupted, excitedly, that evening. “Rally round the saucepan, boys; the cook’s serving soup!”
Mr. Sandborn had been taking a well-earned vacation of a few days after the capture of the notorious gangsters, chiefly represented by Mr. Dapper Dan Hogan, in which event the two boys had had no small part. The Water Witch, you will remember, played a big part in the adventures attendant upon the pursuit and capture of the criminals as did also Stan’s and John’s bow and arrows. And during those few days the boys had been planning the cruise to the Catlow Islands.
It was a cruise they had had in mind ever since acquiring the Water Witch and save for the interference and subsequent capture of Hogan and the other gangsters, the boys would have made the big cruise sooner. Now they were making up for lost time. Below decks were their bows and arrows, cameras, including the special G-man camera Mr. Sandborn had loaned them in case—just in case—they might have use for it; their sleuthing paraphernalia of fingerprint powders, brushes, and magnifying glasses; some adventure books and boys’ magazines; lots and lots of food (for John was a prodigious eater!); charts of the waters they were entering for the first time; and the hundreds of items needed to make the trip an outstanding success. Bit by bit it had been stowed away, a task in itself considering the rather short length and small capacity of sloop. And in all her brave black top sides and green underbody, with the bullet holes from the big battle at Cedar Island all properly plugged and shipshape, the Water Witch had sailed out of Centerport Harbor, pleasure-bound.
The sun was dipping lower and lower as the boat covered the last long mile across the bay in the dying breeze. The aroma of delicious hot coffee came drifting back from the galley and John could be heard mumbling and humming an off-key tune. But for snitches of doughnuts as he was preparing the meal, the cook would have been able to sing right out!
At last came the welcome news to the helmsman that dinner, or supper, was ready.
“Call it anything you like, but serve it, Cookie!” Stan rejoined. “I’m about ready to gnaw a chunk out of this wheel!”