Log Tom Blackwood for uncivil language
to an officer and for refusing duty under fire!"
"Hark, boys!" commanded Jack "We may be getting into a mess and it's no
time for joking and carrying on like that!"
"You're right, Jack, as always!" assented Tom. "Just to show that I'm
serious, I'll joke no more until this fog lifts!"
"Here, too!" declared Harry. "But look at Rowdy! What's the matter,
Rowdy, old chap?" he continued as a great white bulldog came up the
ladder from the cabin. "What ails you?"
The bulldog was evidently excited about something for the hair on his
shoulders and neck was standing straight up while from his throat issued
a low fierce growl scarcely audible above the noise of the tumbling
waters. His every action bespoke antipathy to something. Raising himself
upon his hind legs, the dog rested his paws upon the window sill of the
pilot house. He peered eagerly into the white shroud of mist that
enveloped the motor boat.
"He hears that surf, too!" declared Tom. "He hears it!"
"I don't believe it's surf he hears," Jack stated. "He looks just like
he did back there in Mobile when we found that black browed fellow
trying to board the Fortuna.
"Good old Rowdy!" soothingly murmured Tom reaching over to give the dog
a pat. "What do you see, boy? Tell your friend."
"Looks to me like it might be a person he scents!" Harry stated. "Only
it isn't a likely place for a person to be out in this mess!"
"We're out in this mess, aren't we?" objected Tom.
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