It was likely the Porpoise had been there all night and that day. If she had run directly across from New Bedford she must have been in Nantucket that long, anyhow, and Catty and I wondered if our friend House had done any digging for the treasure yet. While we were talking about it a catboat sailed close by to take a look at us, and Catty sung out to her.

“Say,” he says, “when did that black yacht come in?”

“Last night,” says the young fellow in the cat.

“Much obliged,” says Catty. “How far can you sail that boat up yonder?” he says, pointing off up the bay where it stretches off inland.

“As far as I want to,” says the young fellow.

“Your boat?”

“Yes.”

“Um.... Ever take out passengers?”

“Calc’late to.”

“At night?”

“Often.”

“Well,” says Catty, making up his mind all of a sudden, “Wee-wee and I would like to go for a sail—way up this bay as far as you can go. Tonight. How much’ll it cost?”

“Dollar apiece,” says the young fellow.

“Go you,” says Catty. “You come back just as it’s getting dark, and we’ll be ready.”

Now, I wondered what he was up to, and what Mr. Browning would have to say to it, and I asked him. “You leave me to take care of Mr. Browning,” says he, “and you’ll see what I’m up to soon enough.”

“I’m in it, hain’t I?”

“Sure.”

“Then I got a right to know what’s going to be done. I’m not going poking off blindfolded.”

“Too bad,” says he. “I’ll kind of miss you.”

Well, that was that. Right off he marched down into the cabin where Mr. Browning was talking to Mr. Topper, and he says:

“A young fellow just came along in a catboat, and he said he’d take Wee-wee and me for a sail tonight. May we go?”

“Sure,” says Mr. Browning, kind of absentminded. “Go ahead. These cats around here are mighty safe craft.”

So that was all right, and we went on deck again, and Catty took the glasses from under the cushion of the bench across the bridge, and we spent the rest of the afternoon watching the Porpoise, but there wasn’t much to see. About six o’clock we saw the power dinghy snort ashore and come back with Mr. House, and then everybody went below, and so did we when Rameses III called supper.

When we had filled up we went to wait for our cat to come after us, and pretty soon she came along and slid right up to the jacob’s ladder while Naboth did a war dance on one foot an squalled like all git out for fear our paint would be scratched.

“Hey, you lop-eyed sperm whale, where d’ye think your a-goin’ in that laundry tub, eh? What d’ye think this is—a fish wharf? Sheer off!... Sheer off! If you put a scratch onto my paint as long as a pin and as thick as a hair, I’ll board ye, b’gum. I’ll board ye and I’ll keel-haul ye, and chaw ye and spit ye into the water fer eels to eat.... Yea-a-a-a-a.” He got out that last holler just as the cat touched the foot of the stairs as gentle as a bird lighting.

Rameses III poked his head out of the galley window. “What’s a-goin’ on?” says he. “What’s the argument? Where’s all the trouble? Be I needed?”

“You’re needed to keep your mouth shet,” says Naboth. But just then Catty slid by him and down the ladder and I followed. We stepped into the cat and in a second the tide was carrying us off.

“Yay! Whoa there? Where you a-goin’? Come back here,” yelled Naboth; but Catty just grinned and says, “We’re off to catch a night-blooming sunfish, Naboth. See you later.”

The young man at the tiller was grinning all over. “Nice, gentle, house-broke, soft-spoke sailorman, that,” says he.

“His bark’s worse than his bite,” says Catty.

“Most is,” says he, as if his saying it settled the matter for good and all. “Now where?” says he.

“Up the bay, and kind of skirmish around,” says Catty.

So we sailed off, tacking and twiddling around, and it grew darker and darker, and then the moon began to come up. “Keep as close as you can to that shore,” says Catty, motioning with his thumb.

“Aye, aye, sir,” says the young man.

Well, we fooled around maybe an hour, and then I heard a little motor boat coming, and Catty leaned over and squinted hard. “Bet it’s them,” says he.

“Who?” says I.

“The Porpoises, of course,” says he. “What you think I’m fooling around here for?”

“The only way to find out,” says I, as sarcastic as I could make it, “was to come along and see. I’m seeing.”

“Keep right at it,” says he, “and don’t let your eyes get tired.... It’s their dinghy, sure as shooting.”

The dinghy went past us, maybe a hundred yards off, and kept on going.

“Follow them,” says Catty.

So we did, and pretty soon we could hear that they had stopped the motor.

“Going ashore,” says Catty. Then he turned to the young man. “Say,” says he, “can you beach this boat?”

“I can,” says he, “but the real question is, will I? The answer is I will.”

So he headed in, and then jerked up the center board and brought her about. “You’ll have to wade a piece,” says he.

“All right,” says Catty. “You stand off and on till I whistle three times. Then run in to pick us up.”

I kind of admired his language. That “stand off and on” sounded pretty fair to me. Right off I knew he got it out of a book somewheres. He was getting awful nautical.

He took off his shoes and stockings and I did the same, and we stepped off on a sandy bottom and waded ashore.

“What kind of dum foolishness is this?” says I.

“Jest looking for turtles’ eggs,” says he. “A feller told me the time to find ’em was by moonlight.”

“I don’t need any turtles’ eggs,” says I.

“Not many folks does,” says he, “but I do. I want to send a box of them home to Dad. He’s that fond of turtles’ eggs you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Go ahead,” says I; “if they’re for your Dad, why I’ll help you to the bitter end.... But you promised Mr. Browning you wouldn’t go planning any plans without letting him know.”

“I’m not. I’m hunting turtles’ eggs, and if anything happens while I’m doing it, it isn’t my fault, is it?”

With that he started off along the shore, slinking like an Indian, and I was subtile, like James Fenimore Cooper says, right at his heels. We were about the most subtile pair of kids that ever were. Why, we went along so quiet we almost lost ourselves, and every once in a while I had to pinch my leg to make sure I was there. It worried me. When a fellow’s out at night that way, he don’t enjoy the feeling that he’s got lost from himself.

It was kind of spooky anyhow. Across the sand we could hear the surf breaking on the ocean side of the island, and the moonlight was a kind of sickly pale that made things look different than they really were, and the sand itself, with unlucky bushes growing once in a while, and clumps of grass, made the whole place look like almost anything disagreeable could happen there. And I bet it could.

“Go easy,” says Catty, “we may run onto them any minute.”

“Them?” says I.

“The turtle eggs,” says he, with a kind of a chuckle.

Sure enough; in a few minutes we could hear somebody talking, and we flopped down on our stomachs and wriggled along, until we could see two men. They had been digging, but now they were resting and talking it over while they sat on a pile of sand.

“I tell you this is the place,” says Mr. House. “I measured carefully, and then went all over it to be sure I hadn’t made a mistake.”

“Well, we dug all night last night, and nothing yet. They surely wouldn’t have it much deeper.”

“The map may have made a mistake,” says House, “but I didn’t.” At that I poked Catty in the ribs and he kicked my shin.

“We’ve got to lift it tonight. They’ll be nosing around. They may be here tonight.”

“They won’t hurry. They don’t suspect anything.”

At that Catty kicked me a good one, and I was like to holler out good and loud, but I didn’t. I made up my mind I’d remember that kick and pay it back double when it was safe.

“Anyhow, I want to get it and be off,” says the other man to Mr. House. “They’re welcome to the hole it came out of.”

“It was great luck, our getting that map that way,” says House.

“Hasn’t looked like much luck yet.”

“If you were as good at digging as you are at finding fault it would,” says House.

We just lay still and watched them throw sand, and it was fun, because we knew they were just getting exercise. Every once in a while they would stop and quarrel about it, and then go back at it again, until Mr. House said his back was busted in two, and the other man said he had blisters on his hands as big as oranges and at that I snorted. Catty kicked me again, and this time I deserved it. But it didn’t help to kick after the snort.

“What’s that?” says Mr. House.

“Sounded like a sheep,” says the other man.

“What would a sheep be doing out here?”

“What’s a sheep ever doing any place?... Let’s take a look, anyhow. Nothing like being safe.”

So they started off to take a look, and we played hide and seek with them in the sand drifts and behind grass clumps. But they were thorough.

Catty grabbed my arm, and we lay down behind a bush, and then he commenced to throw sand over us. I caught on in a second, and we went at it like groundhogs. In a few minutes we were covered right to the tips of our noses, and there we lay. They could hunt for a week, and if they didn’t step right onto us, they wouldn’t see us. And then—well, I didn’t like it. I heard House yell.

“Somebody was here,” he says. “I see footprints.”

Then they started to hunt in earnest, and the next thing, their voices got mighty close and closer, and there they were standing right over us. We didn’t even breathe, and then what should House do but take another step right onto the center of the middle of my stummick. I let out a yell and caught him by the leg, and down he went in a heap. Catty ducked up, right between the other man’s legs and we were off, running for dear life.

It took them a few seconds to get over being startled and that gave us a start. We made for the shore of the bay, and Catty had just breath enough to give three whistles for our catboat. We waded out into the water as far as we could, and waited. No catboat. We waited some more. No catboat—and Mr. House and Company were there, on shore, and just stepping into the water.

“Swim for it,” says Catty, and we plunged ahead, clothes and all, and went lickety-split out into the bay. And then the moon went under and it was dark as pitch.

“Keep to your left,” says Catty.

“Why?”

“We’ll borrow their dinghy, if we can beat them to it.”

“Who’ll run it?”

“Me. I’ve watched Naboth.”

“Huh,” says I, and saved my breath to swim with.

We kept veering toward shore, and pretty soon my feet touched, and we kind of crawled up through the water, just keeping our faces out. And talk about luck. We walked right into that black dinghy. There she was as big as life and twice as natural.

“Haul her off,” whispered Catty.

We did and swam out about fifty yards with her. Then we crawled in.

“Howdy-do,” says a voice, and a couple of the biggest hands I ever saw, dropped right out of the sky and collared Catty and me.