The Boy Scouts on Picket Duty | Page 8

the island. This was to be done on the first night when
there was no moon and the wind was blowing off shore.
"There's a guy named Durgan lives over yonder in a little clearing 'bout
a hundred yards up from the mouth of the creek," said one of the men.
"Lives there all year 'round alone, fishin' an' raisin' turtles fer market.
Queer ol' cuss, kind-a looney,---but he's friendly to us and willin' to
oblige us by showin' a light in his cabin winder when the coast is
clear."
"You theenk dat will be next-----"
The rest of that question was lost to Hugh, because the man who had
first spoken muttered a warning of silence, then added something in a
still lower tone. In vain Hugh tried to catch the words. Then the man
whose accent indicated that he was either a Creole or a Haytian spoke
again.
"Eet is not alway so easy to tell when dere will be no moon," he said.
"And der wind, eet blow effery way---in one day."
"Never mind,---just wait," came the answer. "One o' these nights,
perhaps to-morrow, we'll-----"
Again the sentence was lost. Hugh frowned impatiently. However, as
they went on talking he heard some more of their designs---in particular,
the fact that the dynamite was to be used for blowing up a railroad
bridge.
Thinking that he had heard enough by this time and knowing that if
they discovered him he would be captured as a spy, Hugh began to
wonder how and when he should leave his hiding place and crawl back
to camp with the least risk of being observed. At any moment the men
might emerge from the hut or others of their gang might join them. Yet
he did so want to learn where they had come from, and whether their

vessel was lying at anchor somewhere among these many islands! So
he lay there, flat on the sand, scarcely daring to breathe lest he should
be heard, heartily wishing the men would give some more definite hint
of their purposes, and devoutly hoping that none of his friends, missing
him from camp, would come in search of him with shouts and calls!
"That would be fierce!" he whispered inaudibly. "That would give me
away and scare off these jail birds mighty quick!"
Suddenly the distant tchug-tchug of a gasoline motor boat came to his
ears. Raising himself on his elbows, he peered over the stump, out
across the glittering blue water, and saw a good-sized dory, manned by
a solitary individual who wore light oilskins, coming swiftly toward the
hut on the beach.
"That must be the motor boat that passed our camp last night," thought
Hugh. "I feel sure now, surer than ever, that I heard it go by in the
darkness. But it's coming over from the mainland now. Wonder who's
that man at the tiller?"
Down he sank again and waited.
Presently the motor-dory drew up alongside the strip of beach in front
of the bamboo hut and came to a standstill. The man in oilskins called
out:
"Hey! You-all in thar!"
Instantly one of the three rascals came forth from the hut.
"Hello, Durgan!" he called, not at all loudly, through his cupped hands.
"What's the news?"
"Beat it!" was Durgan's warning answer. "Thar's a campin' party on th'
island below here---I seen 'em 'bout ten minutes ago---old Cap'n Lem
Vinton, an Injun, an' four or five boys."
"Lem Vinton, eh? All right, Joe, we're going. Can you tow us around

Spider Key?"
"Nope. I'm goin' home now," Joe Durgan replied tersely, with the
abruptness of one who has done an irksome duty and would avoid
further responsibility for the present.
Suiting actions to words, he quickened his engine and made off toward
the Florida shore.
His boat had scarcely become a speck on the water, when Hugh began
to crawl back to the other side of the mound. Joe Durgan, who was
evidently not nearly so "looney" as represented, had warned the
smugglers of the presence of the Arrow near their retreat, and Hugh
realized that no time should be lost if Vinton were to spread sail and go
in pursuit of them or of the Petrel.
"Now's the time for me to beat it, too," he resolved. "While they're
talking they won't hear me or see me, and I can hurry back to the place
where I left my coat and shoes."
When he had gone some little distance without being discovered, he
fancied he was safe and rose to his feet, intending to run as fast as his
legs could carry him---which was no snail's pace, indeed! Scarcely had
he begun to move forward, however, when he heard a shout, followed
by the sound of hurried footsteps.
Being fleet