"I can't believe he would make way with him."
"I don't know," replied Frank in a dubious tone. "Wyckoff has given
evidence that he's a mighty mean sort of a chap."
"Speaking of Wyckoff," put in Jack, "I believe that's the schooner that
chased us away from Petit Bois yesterday. Look there."
All hands looked in the direction indicated by Jack and saw a schooner
just putting out of the harbor. On her decks stood several roughly
dressed men lounging about in attitudes that bespoke anything but the
smart sailor. They were unkempt and untidy in appearance and were
generally a pretty undesirable looking group.
"If that's the same vessel," Frank declared, "I'm glad she didn't catch
us! They're a hard looking collection of desperadoes."
"She's tacking so as to come close aboard of us," declared Tom. "Shall I
shift the course, Jack?" he inquired.
"I don't think so," answered Jack. "Of course under the pilot rules of
the United States, a power boat under way must keep clear of a sailing
vessel. She has the right of way and seems to be taking it. But we can
easily dodge her with our powerful engines."
Closer and closer came the schooner until it seemed that she would
surely collide with the motor-boat. When scarcely more than a length
Away from the Fortuna, the schooner was brought sharply about on the
other tack. As she came about a clear cut whistle sounded shrilly in the
morning air:
"Bob White! Bob, Bob White!"
"Gracious!" cried Frank springing to his feet.
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