CHAPTER XIII
The Night Watchers
Scotty, who had realized they were being shot at, was pulling at Rick'sarm in frantic jerks, trying to lead him back into deeper water. Rickneeded no urging. His fins thrashed in the shallows as he drovedesperately for the safety of the deepest part of the cove, his handskeeping contact with the bottom.
The increased pressure on his eardrums told him they had reached thesanctuary of deeper water where the velocity of bullets would beabsorbed before they could strike. He was bewildered. What had happened?Who was shooting? For a moment it crossed his mind that Orvil might bedoing the shooting, but he dismissed it. He had no proof that thecrabber hadn't suddenly turned on them; he just didn't believe it.
Yesterday Scotty had seen watchers on the shore, presumably fromCalvert's Favor. Apparently the watchers were there now. The boys hadgone into shallow water, and their tanks had shown above the surface,drawing fire. It was the only reasonable explanation. Probably the nightwatchers had seen the pole handed up to Orvil, or had seen the faintlight reflecting from their masks.
What had happened to Orvil?
One thing was certain. They couldn't stay on the bottom indefinitely.
Rick consulted his wrist compass and closed his fingers on Scotty'sshoulder. He led the way toward the mouth of the cove.
Somewhere on the shore, he thought, the night gunmen were watching theline of bubbles. The boys' only hope of escaping detection had been toavoid drawing attention to themselves. Rick knew that was impossiblewith watchers on the shore. Watchers at four in the morning was onething he hadn't expected. What had drawn them?
Suddenly he knew. While he, Steve, and Scotty had examined the mansionthrough glasses from Orvil's boat, Merlin and company, or a singleguard, had been watching them. They had drawn attention not only toOrvil, but to the time of day when the guards would need to beespecially alert.
Bubbles would attract the guards' attention, not only because theyfoamed on the surface, but because they would leave a glow ofphosphorescence. How far would bubbles and glow be visible? He had amental image of the watchers following the shoreline. They couldn'tcross the creek or its mouth to where Steve's runabout was stowed, butthey could shoot that far, if they could see the bubbles.
The only way for Scotty and him to escape was to eliminate the bubbletrack. That meant not breathing. Not breathing was possible for a shorttime. During the interval, they could swim into the marsh grass and useit for cover.
Rick's thoughts raced. He tried to recall the shoreline. There must besome promontory, some outcropping of grass, behind which they couldhide. Perhaps the best way was simply to swim directly out from thecreek mouth until distance hid the bubbles and darkness shrouded twoblack-covered heads.
There was a problem, though. Scotty's air tank hadn't been used untilnow. Rick's had, during the initial search yesterday. He estimatedquickly. Less air is used at shallow depths than at deeper depths. Thewater depth for most of the way was shallow enough so that tank time wasessentially the same as swimming on the surface. He had had at leastforty-five minutes of air to begin with, and it might be stretched tofifty minutes. He probably had used no more than forty minutes of air,total. But the remaining ten minutes would not take them out into reallydeep water in the river itself, and then back to shore. There was notenough air to take them to Steve's place.
He had to make up his mind. Scotty, undoubtedly, was doing some fastthinking along the same lines. Their thoughts usually followed the sametrack in such situations. Rick touched Scotty's side and forged ahead,heading straight out. He counted his kicks, estimating distance covered.When he reached a count of three hundred he angled right, toward thenorth shore of the Little Choptank. They were well out of the creek now.
When the water shoaled, he found Scotty again and pressed him down;then, very gingerly, he put his head above water, half expecting to feelthe shock of a bullet.
There was a fallen tree nearby. He submerged again, touched Scotty, andled the way to its shelter. A cautious survey told him they were somedistance from the creek mouth, and certainly invisible behind thewaterlogged trunk and its load of leaves and other debris.
He put his lips to Scotty's ear. "Wonder what happened to Orvil?"
"We've got to find out," Scotty whispered back.
"Yes, but how?"
"We go overland."
Of course! They were on the same side as the boat, and not far away.There was the stretch of marsh between the channel and the creek. Theycould cross that, and overlook the creek. "Let's go," Rick whispered.
They inched their way along the fallen tree to the bank, then crawledslowly into the shelter of the marsh grass. The grass grew in a narrowswath at this point, with a tangle of scrub and trees deeper inland.They kept going until the scrub concealed them, listening for soundsfrom the creek. There was the beat of a motor. It sounded like Orvil'sboat, and Rick thought it probably was. But would Orvil continuecrabbing? Again the doubt came. Had the crabber tried to kill them? Hecouldn't believe it.
The boys stopped and slipped off their fins. "Lead on," Rick saidsoftly.
"Okay. When we get to the boat, we'll wade across the channel andcontinue right on through the marsh grass to the bank of the creek. We'dbetter be as quiet as possible."
"I'm with you."
Carrying their swim fins, the boys started through the dense growth,Scotty in the lead. It was hard going. Mosquitoes whined in a steadyswarm around their heads, but with the neoprene suits and helmets, onlytheir faces and hands were exposed. Each traveled with one handoutstretched to fend off branches, the other hand waving the fins tochase the insects from their faces. The outstretched hands were wipedfrequently across the suits to get rid of the pests.
Rick was careful to step where Scotty stepped. When it came to silenttracking at night, the ex-Marine had few peers.
The two skirted the shore, keeping within the tree belt, until moremarsh grass warned them that the water was near. The ground gave way tomud, and the mud to water. They stepped into the narrow channel up whichthey had gone to the blind. They now were less than two yards from therunabout. Scotty turned at once, and keeping to the water, movedupstream. Rick followed, careful not to splash. The darkness was lessdense than under the trees, but he could not make out any details.
The channel ran roughly parallel to the creek, with a strip of landabout thirty yards wide between the two. When Scotty estimated they wereeven with the cove, he left the channel and moved into the marsh grassagain. Rick followed closely, careful to make no noise. In spite oftheir best efforts there was an occasional sucking sound as his foot orScotty's pulled out of the muck, and there was a steady rustle of marshgrass. He hoped that the sounds were drowned out by the steady chuggingof Orvil's motor.
Scotty slowed to a cautious pace and Rick knew they were approaching thecreek bank. The marsh grass did not thin appreciably. Rick wondered ifthe night watchers could see the tassels of the grass waving as theyapproached, and decided that the small motion probably was invisibleagainst the high bank of trees farther inland.
Rick stopped as Scotty turned. Soundlessly, Scotty lowered himself tothe mud, then inched ahead, moving each strand of marsh grass with care.Rick followed suit, and crawled in Scotty's track until he saw theglimmer of water. Then, moving with great caution, he drew alongside hispal. They looked out into the cove through a thin screen of grassstalks.
Orvil Harris was crabbing, as unconcerned as though nothing hadhappened. As Rick stared, disbelieving, the crabber's net swooped.
The crab boat moved on, exposing a glow on the opposite bank. Ricksucked in his breath. He could make out the forms of two men. One wassmoking a cigarette. Both carried rifles.
The Flying Stingaree: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story Page 13
