<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></SPAN>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
<h3>The Night Watchers</h3>
<p>Scotty, who had realized they were being shot at, was pulling at Rick's
arm in frantic jerks, trying to lead him back into deeper water. Rick
needed no urging. His fins thrashed in the shallows as he drove
desperately for the safety of the deepest part of the cove, his hands
keeping contact with the bottom.</p>
<p>The increased pressure on his eardrums told him they had reached the
sanctuary of deeper water where the velocity of bullets would be
absorbed before they could strike. He was bewildered. What had happened?
Who was shooting? For a moment it crossed his mind that Orvil might be
doing the shooting, but he dismissed it. He had no proof that the
crabber hadn't suddenly turned on them; he just didn't believe it.</p>
<p>Yesterday Scotty had seen watchers on the shore, presumably from
Calvert's Favor. Apparently the watchers were there now. The boys had
gone into shallow water, and their tanks had shown above the surface,
drawing fire. It was the only reasonable explanation. Probably the night
watchers had seen the pole handed up to Orvil, or had seen the faint
light reflecting from their masks.</p>
<p>What had happened to Orvil?</p>
<p>One thing was certain. They couldn't stay on the bottom indefinitely.</p>
<p>Rick consulted his wrist compass and closed his fingers on Scotty's
shoulder. He led the way toward the mouth of the cove.</p>
<p>Somewhere on the shore, he thought, the night gunmen were watching the
line of bubbles. The boys' only hope of escaping detection had been to
avoid drawing attention to themselves. Rick knew that was impossible
with watchers on the shore. Watchers at four in the morning was one
thing he hadn't expected. What had drawn them?</p>
<p>Suddenly he knew. While he, Steve, and Scotty had examined the mansion
through glasses from Orvil's boat, Merlin and company, or a single
guard, had been watching them. They had drawn attention not only to
Orvil, but to the time of day when the guards would need to be
especially alert.</p>
<p>Bubbles would attract the guards' attention, not only because they
foamed on the surface, but because they would leave a glow of
phosphorescence. How far would bubbles and glow be visible? He had a
mental image of the watchers following the shoreline. They couldn't
cross the creek or its mouth to where Steve's runabout was stowed, but
they could shoot that far, if they could see the bubbles.</p>
<p>The only way for Scotty and him to escape was to eliminate the bubble
track. That meant not breathing. Not breathing was possible for a short
time. During the interval, they could swim into the marsh grass and use
it for cover.</p>
<p>Rick's thoughts raced. He tried to recall the shoreline. There must be
some promontory, some outcropping of grass, behind which they could
hide. Perhaps the best way was simply to swim directly out from the
creek mouth until distance hid the bubbles and darkness shrouded two
black-covered heads.</p>
<p>There was a problem, though. Scotty's air tank hadn't been used until
now. Rick's had, during the initial search yesterday. He estimated
quickly. Less air is used at shallow depths than at deeper depths. The
water depth for most of the way was shallow enough so that tank time was
essentially the same as swimming on the surface. He had had at least
forty-five minutes of air to begin with, and it might be stretched to
fifty minutes. He probably had used no more than forty minutes of air,
total. But the remaining ten minutes would not take them out into really
deep water in the river itself, and then back to shore. There was not
enough air to take them to Steve's place.</p>
<p>He had to make up his mind. Scotty, undoubtedly, was doing some fast
thinking along the same lines. Their thoughts usually followed the same
track 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 the
north shore of the Little Choptank. They were well out of the creek now.</p>
<p>When the water shoaled, he found Scotty again and pressed him down;
then, very gingerly, he put his head above water, half expecting to feel
the shock of a bullet.</p>
<p>There was a fallen tree nearby. He submerged again, touched Scotty, and
led the way to its shelter. A cautious survey told him they were some
distance from the creek mouth, and certainly invisible behind the
waterlogged trunk and its load of leaves and other debris.</p>
<p>He put his lips to Scotty's ear. "Wonder what happened to Orvil?"</p>
<p>"We've got to find out," Scotty whispered back.</p>
<p>"Yes, but how?"</p>
<p>"We go overland."</p>
<p>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. They
could cross that, and overlook the creek. "Let's go," Rick whispered.</p>
<p>They inched their way along the fallen tree to the bank, then crawled
slowly into the shelter of the marsh grass. The grass grew in a narrow
swath at this point, with a tangle of scrub and trees deeper inland.
They kept going until the scrub concealed them, listening for sounds
from the creek. There was the beat of a motor. It sounded like Orvil's
boat, and Rick thought it probably was. But would Orvil continue
crabbing? Again the doubt came. Had the crabber tried to kill them? He
couldn't believe it.</p>
<p>The boys stopped and slipped off their fins. "Lead on," Rick said
softly.</p>
<p>"Okay. When we get to the boat, we'll wade across the channel and
continue right on through the marsh grass to the bank of the creek. We'd
better be as quiet as possible."</p>
<p>"I'm with you."</p>
<p>Carrying their swim fins, the boys started through the dense growth,
Scotty in the lead. It was hard going. Mosquitoes whined in a steady
swarm around their heads, but with the neoprene suits and helmets, only
their faces and hands were exposed. Each traveled with one hand
outstretched to fend off branches, the other hand waving the fins to
chase the insects from their faces. The outstretched hands were wiped
frequently across the suits to get rid of the pests.</p>
<p>Rick was careful to step where Scotty stepped. When it came to silent
tracking at night, the ex-Marine had few peers.</p>
<p>The two skirted the shore, keeping within the tree belt, until more
marsh grass warned them that the water was near. The ground gave way to
mud, and the mud to water. They stepped into the narrow channel up which
they had gone to the blind. They now were less than two yards from the
runabout. Scotty turned at once, and keeping to the water, moved
upstream. Rick followed, careful not to splash. The darkness was less
dense than under the trees, but he could not make out any details.</p>
<p>The channel ran roughly parallel to the creek, with a strip of land
about thirty yards wide between the two. When Scotty estimated they were
even with the cove, he left the channel and moved into the marsh grass
again. Rick followed closely, careful to make no noise. In spite of
their best efforts there was an occasional sucking sound as his foot or
Scotty's pulled out of the muck, and there was a steady rustle of marsh
grass. He hoped that the sounds were drowned out by the steady chugging
of Orvil's motor.</p>
<p>Scotty slowed to a cautious pace and Rick knew they were approaching the
creek bank. The marsh grass did not thin appreciably. Rick wondered if
the night watchers could see the tassels of the grass waving as they
approached, and decided that the small motion probably was invisible
against the high bank of trees farther inland.</p>
<p>Rick stopped as Scotty turned. Soundlessly, Scotty lowered himself to
the mud, then inched ahead, moving each strand of marsh grass with care.
Rick followed suit, and crawled in Scotty's track until he saw the
glimmer of water. Then, moving with great caution, he drew alongside his
pal. They looked out into the cove through a thin screen of grass
stalks.</p>
<p>Orvil Harris was crabbing, as unconcerned as though nothing had
happened. As Rick stared, disbelieving, the crabber's net swooped.</p>
<p>The crab boat moved on, exposing a glow on the opposite bank. Rick
sucked in his breath. He could make out the forms of two men. One was
smoking a cigarette. Both carried rifles.</p>
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