"There's the mouth of the burn that comes down by the plantation," was the reply.
"Very well, take us there!" Fred Stanley said, impatiently. "Those fellows must be somewhere; and I'll bet you they're not far off. I must say, Hector, you don't seem particularly anxious to get hold of them. Are there any of them friends of yours?"
Hector did not answer this taunt. He merely said—
"It is a dark night, sir, to make any one out."
And then they went on again, but with caution; for besides the danger of breaking a leg among the rocks, they knew that the yawning gulfs of the sea were by their side. Hector led the way, Fred Stanley coming next, Meredyth—with muttered grumblings—bringing up the rear. In this wise they followed the inward bend of the bay, until the keeper leapt from the rocks into a drifted mass of seaweed: they were at the corner of the semi-circular beach.
Suddenly Fred Stanley caught Hector's arm, and held him for a second.
"Do you hear that?" he said, in an eager whisper. "They are there—right ahead of us—fire a shot at them, Hector!—give them a peppering—give their coats a dusting!"
"Oh, no, sir," said the serious-mannered keeper, "I cannot do that. But I will go forward and challenge them. When you get to know who they are, then you will apply for a summons afterwards."
"Come on, then!—come along!" the young man said, and he began to run—stumbling over seaweed, stones, and shingle—but guided by the subdued commotion in front of him.
All at once that scuffle ceased. There was another sound—slight and yet distinct: it was the hurried dip of oars. Nay, was not that the "loom" of a boat, not twenty yards away from them—the dark hull receding from the land?