CHAPTER XVIII: HELD UP BY MARINES


It was barely a minute afterward that Jack Benson lapsed into a very
distinct snore.

“No more trouble from this pair,” laughed the bearded one to his companion
at the hatchway. “Now, I’ll douse the cabin light, and then we’ll cast
off. This thing has moved along very slickly.”

Eph, after having made up his mind to turn in early, had found his sleepy
fit passing. He read for a while in the cabin, then pulled on a reefer and
went up on deck. Williamson was already in a berth, sound asleep.

“It would be a fine night if there was a moon,” Eph remarked to the marine
sentry on deck.

“Yes, sir.”

The marine—“soldier, and sailor, too”—not being there for conversational
purposes, continued his slow pacing, his rifle resting over his right
shoulder.

As Eph strolled about in the limited space of the platform deck he heard a
distant creaking. It was a sound that he well knew—the hoisting of sail.