CHAPTER V
THE STREAK ON THE WATER
The Navy boys arrived at the patch of shallow water over the Blue Reefat about noon. By that time the fog was pretty well dissipated, and theyhad a clear view of miles and miles of sea as well as of the coastlinebehind them and the narrow entrance to the cove.
The submarine chaser was out of sight. No other craft appeared upon theopen sea beyond the _Sue Bridger's_ present anchorage. The boys threwout a little chum, and then dropped their hooks.
"First nibble!" whispered Torry. "Now watch me play him."
But the first few "nibbles" proved to be merely "hook-cleaners." Thefish got the bait, and the boys had the exercise of swishing their linesin and out of the water.
Channel bass run to large sizes. Torry told about seeing one hung up onthe dock at Seacove weighing sixty-four and a quarter pounds.
"That's all right," grumbled Frenchy, who had just lost a nibbler, "buta two-pound one will satisfy me. What would we do with asixty-four-pound bass?"
"Keep it alive and teach it to draw a little red wagon," chuckled Ikey."Oi, oi! That would be fine!"
"It would be as big as Dugan's goat. Don't know why it shouldn't betackled up and made use of," Whistler agreed, dryly.
"Only they lack feet--Gee-whillikins! what's this?" burst forth Torry.
He certainly had a bite at last. His reel hummed and the fish startedfor the coast of Spain; or, at least, in that general direction.
He had to play the fish well to save his line, for the latter wasneither a very heavy one, nor new. The bass ran stubbornly out to sea.
"That's a whale, Torry," Whistler declared, breaking off in a militarytune to make the observation. "You should have harpooned it."
"I'm going to get him aboard here if I swamp the boat!" declared Torrywith vigor.
The boys were so interested in his playing the fish for the next tenminutes that they did not cast a glance shoreward. Finally the bass wastired out, and Torry drew him in close to the boat. Whistler leaned overthe side and, with a maul, tapped the bass on the head.
But when he got his hand in the gills of the fish they clamped down uponhis fingers, and, in the struggle, he was almost hauled out of theboat.
"Hey! Help!" he bawled. "What are you fellows? Just passengers?"
Frenchy gave him a hand on one side and Ikey on the other; between themthe trio hauled a ten-pound bass over the gunwale. Torry was dancingaround in glee and shouting at the top of his voice.
"Hush!" commanded Whistler. "You'll scare even the sharks and dogfishaway."
"Or you'll dance through the rotten old bottom boards of the boat andwe'll have to walk ashore," added Frenchy.
But it was a great catch, and the others could feel nothing but envy ofTorry's success. He had set a pace that none of them could equal; forafter that there did not seem to be another bass of even two pounds'weight in the whole ocean.
"Hey, fellows!" ejaculated Ikey suddenly. "Who's this coming?"
"Somebody walking on the water, is it?" chuckled Frenchy.
"Aw, you needn't be correcting my English," responded Ikey. "There areno medals on you for being a purist."
"Wow, wow!" yelled Torry. "Listen to him sling language."
"Hold on, fellows," Whistler said, diving for the glass he never wentto sea without. "That's no smack."
They all had turned to look at the approaching craft which Ikey hadfirst sighted. It was a power boat and was running parallel with thecoast in a southeasterly direction and inshore of the anchorage of the_Sue Bridger_.
She was about forty feet long and was showing some speed; but her hulllooked battered, and there was nothing natty or yacht-like about her.
"No pleasure craft, that," ventured Torry, as Phil trained his glasseson her. "She's too slouchy."
"She's got speed, just the same," observed Frenchy. "What's her name,Phil?"
"Can't make it out," returned Morgan. Then immediately he uttered asurprised ejaculation.
"What's up?" Torry asked him.
Whistler said nothing but he drew his chum up beside him and thrust theglass into his hand. "Look at that fellow," he commanded.
"Which fellow?" asked Torry trying to focus the glass on the strangecraft.
"The man forward. He's looking this way. See! The man with thewhiskers," whispered Morgan.
"I see him," returned Torry.
The other boys were giving more attention to their fishing again.Whistler was very much in earnest, and he spoke softly in his chum'sear:
"You've seen him before. It's the man we saw in the bushes up there bythe Elmvale Dam the other day. Remember, Al?"
"Gee! Yes!" breathed Torry.
"They told me his name was Blake. He doesn't look it," said Whistlerearnestly. "He looks more like a German than Hansie Hertig--and that'senough!"
"Aw----"
"Of course, he can't help that," agreed Whistler before Torrance couldvoice objection. "But he is a stranger in Elmvale. He works at themunition factory. You'd think of course they'd be careful who theyemploy. But he wouldn't be the first alien that has been employed insuch a factory."
"What are you driving at, Phil?" demanded his chum, much puzzled now.
"I found something up there near the dam that I didn't tell you fellowsabout. And it is something that I think that man's interested in. Now,what's he out here for?"
"For a sail."
"In that old tub that is full of oil casks and the like?"
"Whistler Morgan!" breathed Torry in amazement, "how do you know at thisdistance what kind of cargo that boat has?"
"Why, she fairly reeks of oil!" said Whistler confidently. "See thatstreak along the water in her wake--that purplish, reddish streak?"
"I see it!" admitted Torry in a moment.
"Nothing but oil would do that. She's got leaky casks aboard. And wherewould an oil lighter be going out this way? Where is she coming from andwhere is she going? And what is that bewhiskered Blake doing aboard her?Tell me that, will you?"
But the wondering and excited Torrance could not answer thesequestions.