The Cape makes a wide bend between Denboro and Trumet. The distance between these towns is twenty long, curved miles over the road; by water it is reduced to a straight fourteen. And midway between the two, at the center of the curve, is East Harniss.
The Lady May coughed briskly on. There was no sea, and she sent long, widening ripples from each side of her bow. Bartlett, leaning over the rail, gazed impatiently ahead. Issy, sprawled on the bench by the wheel, was muttering to himself. Occasionally he glanced toward the east. The gray fog bank was now half way to the zenith and approaching rapidly. The eastern shore had disappeared.
"Is! Hi, Is! What are you doing? Don't kill him before my eyes."
Issy came out of his trance with a start.
"What--what's that?" he asked. His passenger was grinning broadly.
"What? Kill who?"
"Why, the big chief, or whoever you had under your knee just then.
You've been rolling your eyes and punching air with your fist for the last five minutes. I was getting scared. You're an unmerciful sinner when you get started, ain't you, Is? Who was the victim that time? 'Man Afraid of Hot Water'? or who?"
The skipper scowled. He shoved the fist into his pocket.
"Naw," he growled. "'Twa'n't."
"So? Not an Indian? Then it must have been a white man. Some fellow after your girl, perhaps. Hey?"
The disconcerted Issy was speechless. His companion's chance shot had scored a bull's-eye. Sam whooped.
"That's it!" he crowed. "Sure thing! Give it to him, Is! Don't spare him."
Mr. McKay chokingly admitted that he "wa'n't goin' to."
"Ho, ho! That's the stuff! But who's SHE, Is? When are you going to marry her?"
Issy grunted spitefully. "You ain't married yourself--not yit," he observed, with concealed sarcasm.
The unsuspecting Bartlett laughed in triumph. "No," he said. "I'm not, that's a fact; but maybe I'm going to be some of these days.
It looked pretty dubious for a while, but now it's all right."
"'Tis, hey? You're sure about that, be you?"
"Guess I am. Great Scott! what's that? Fog?"
A damp breath blew across the boat. The clouds covered the sky overhead and the bay to port. The fog was pouring like smoke across the water.
"Fog, by thunder!" exclaimed Bartlett.
Issy smiled. "Hum! Yes, 'tis fog, ain't it?" he observed.
"But what'll we do? It'll be here in a minute, won't it?"
"Shouldn't be a mite surprised. Looks 's if twas here now."
The fog came on. It reached the Lady May, passed over her, and shut her within gray, wet walls. It was impossible to see a length from her side. Sam swore emphatically. The skipper was provokingly calm. He stepped to the engine, bent over it, and then returned to the wheel.
"What are you doing?" demanded Bartlett.
"Slowin' down, of course. Can't run more'n ha'f speed in a fog like this. 'Tain't safe."
"Safe! What do I care? I want to get to Trumet."
"Yes? Well, maybe we'll git there if we have luck."
"You idiot! We've GOT to get there. How can you tell which way to steer? Get your compass, man! get your compass!"
"Ain't got no compass," was the sulky answer. Left it to home."
"Why, no, you didn't. I--"
"I tell you I did. 'Twas careless of me, I know, but--"
"But I say you didn't. When you went uptown after that quahaug rake I explored this craft of yours some. The compass is in that little closet at the end of the cabin. I'll get it."
He rose to his feet. Issy sprang forward and seized him by the arm.
"Set down!" he yelled. "Who's runnin' this boat, you or me?"
The astounded passenger stared at his companion.
"Why, you are," he replied. "But that's no reason-- What's the matter with you, anyway? Have your dime novels driven you loony?"
Issy hesitated. For a moment chagrin and rage at this sudden upset of his schemes had gotten the better of his prudence. But Bartlett was taller than he and broad in proportion. And valor--except of the imaginative brand--was not Issy's strong point.
"There, there, Sam!" he explained, smiling crookedly. "You mustn't mind me. I'm sort of nervous, I guess. And you mustn't hop up and down in a boat that way. You set still and I'll fetch the compass."
He stumbled across the cockpit and disappeared in the dusk of the cabin. Finding that compass took a long time. Sam lost patience.
"What's the matter?" he demanded. "Can't you find it? Shall I come?"
"No, no!" screamed Issy vehemently. "Stay where you be. Catch a-holt of that wheel. We'll be spinnin' circles if you don't. I'm a-comin'."
But it was another five minutes before he emerged from the cabin, carrying the compass box very carefully with both hands. He placed it in the binnacle and closed the glass lid.
"'Twas catched in a bluefish line," he explained. "All snarled up, 'twas."
Sam peered through the glass at the compass.
"Thunder!" he exclaimed. "I should say we had spun around.
Instead of north being off here where I thought it was, it's 'way out to the right. Queer how fog'll mix a fellow up. Trumet's about northeast, isn't it?"
"No'theast by no'th's the course. Keep her just there."
