"
"H--m!" Willie reflected, scratching his thin locks. "Sorter looks as
if it was time I took a hand, don't it?"
"I figger if anybody's goin' to interfere, now's the minute. Bart's
got his sails set an' is clearin' port fur good an' all this time, no
mistake. 'Twas sure to come sooner or later."
Their roads parted and Willie turned toward the town, while Jack
Nickerson, with rolling gait, pursued his way to the beach where at the
tip of a slender bar of sand jutting out into the ocean the low roofs
of the life-saving station lay outlined against a somber sky. Great
banks of leaden clouds sagging over the horizon had dulled the water to
blackness, and a stiff gale was whistling inshore. Already the billows
were mounting angrily into caps of snarling foam and dashing themselves
on the sands with threatening echo. It promised to be a nasty night,
and Jack remembered as he looked that he was on patrol duty. Yet
although the muscles of his jaw tightened into grimness, it was not the
prospective tramp along a lonely beach in the darkness and wind that
caused the stern tensity of his countenance.
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