She had approached within a mile or two of the pre-arranged
landing-place when over the mangroves had flared the blinding
white light of a Spanish patrol-boat; like a thief surprised at
his work the tramp had turned tail and fled, never pausing until
she lay safe among the Bahama Banks.
Now she was feeling her way back, some distance to the westward.
Major Ramos was on the bridge with the captain. Two men were
taking soundings in a blind search for that steep wall which forms
the side of the old Bahama Channel. When the lead finally gave
them warning, the Fair Play lost her headway and came to a stop,
rolling lazily; in the silence that ensued Leslie Branch's
recurrent cough barked loudly.
"They're afraid to go closer, on account of the reef," O'Reilly
explained to his companions.
"That must be it that I hear," Norine ventured. "Or maybe it's
just the roaring in my ears."
"Probably the latter," said Branch. "I'm scared stiff. I don't
like reefs. Are there any sharks in these waters?"
"Plenty."
"Well, I'm glad I'm thin," the sick man murmured.
Major Ramos spoke in a low tone from the darkness above, calling
for a volunteer boat's crew to reconnoiter and to look for an
opening through the reef. Before the words were out of his mouth
O'Reilly had offered himself.
Ten minutes later he found himself at the steering-oar of one of
the ship's life-boats, heading shoreward.
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