unpleasantly. "Don't need a sign." He patted the stock of his rifle. "Got this."

"Plan to use it?" Scotty asked calmly.

"If I have to. Now cast off those lines and get out."

Rick's temper began to fray a little. "You're using the wrong tone of voice," he said gently. "You should say 'I'm terribly sorry, fellows, but this is private property. Do you mind tying up somewhere else?' Ask us nicely like that and we'll do it."

The redhead half lifted the rifle. "Wise guy, huh? I warned you. Now cast off those lines and get out." He dropped his hand to the lever of the rifle as though to pump a cartridge into place.

Scotty tensed. He said softly, "Get gay with that rifle and I'll climb up there and feed it to you breech first."

Rick saw the color rise to the boy's face and the muscles in his throat tighten. "Easy, Scotty," he said warningly. He knew, as Scotty did, that no normal person would wave a rifle at anyone for mere daytime accidental trespassing, but he had a hunch the young carrot-top would not react normally.

"Jimmy!"

The three of them looked to the hotel as the hail came. A big man with red hair several shades darker than the boy's was waving from the side door of the Creek House. He walked toward them rapidly.

"Okay, Pop," Carrottop called. "I told 'em to get out."

As the man approached, Rick saw that there was a strong resemblance between the man and the boy. Evidently they were father and son. The man had the same thin lips, the same seaweed-green eyes. His face was almost square. It was a tough face, Rick thought.

The newcomer looked at his son and jerked his thumb toward the hotel. "Okay, Jimmy, get into the house."

The boy turned and walked off without a word.

The man surveyed Rick and Scotty briefly. "Don't mind Jimmy. He was probably rude, and I'm sorry for it. But this is private property and I can't allow you to tie up here." He motioned to the high board fence along the front of the hotel. The fence ran down to the edge of the creek. "Anywhere this side of the fence is private."

Rick nodded. "It didn't use to be. That's why we tied up here. I'm sorry, Mr...."

"Kelso. I rented the place a few weeks ago. Haven't had time to get signs up yet."

"We'll shove off right away, Mr. Kelso. Sorry we intruded."

"Okay."

Rick started the engine, threw the launch into reverse, and backed out.

Scotty sat down beside him. "How about that?"

"Funny," Rick said. "Didn't Cap'n Mike say a family named Kelso had taken the hotel because their little boy was sick and needed fresh air?"

"That's what he said," Scotty affirmed. "Do you suppose that was the sick little boy?"

"If he's sick," Rick said grimly, "it's trigger fever. I think he'd like to take a shot at someone."

"It would sure be an effective way of discouraging trespassers. Why do you suppose they crave privacy so much?"

"Beats me," Rick said. "We'll have to ask Cap'n Mike."

The launch passed the edge of the Creek House fence and came to a strip of sandy beach. The road ended a few feet from the beach. A number of cars were parked in the area, and along Smugglers' Reef were the occupants, most of them standing around the wreck.

"I'll run the launch in as far as I can," Risk directed, "then you jump ashore with the anchor."

"Okay." Scotty went forward and took the small anchor from its lashings, making sure he had plenty of line. As Rick pushed the bow of the launch into shallow water until it grated on the sand, Scotty jumped across the six feet of open water to the beach.

Rick took the keys from the ignition and joined him. Together they pulled the launch in a foot or two more, then dug the anchor into the sand. It would hold until the tide changed.

"Let's go look at the wreck," Scotty said.

Rick nodded. "Afterward, I think we'd better go look up Cap'n Mike. I have some questions I want to ask him."

"About what?"

"Something he said last night. And about the Kelsos."

They reached the old light tower and paused to examine it. Salt air had etched the steel of the frame badly. The tower was almost forty feet high, about twice as tall as the present light. At its top had been a wooden platform where the lightkeeper had once stood to care for the light. A rusty metal ladder led up one side of the tower to where the platform had been.

Rick wondered why the authorities had abandoned the tower in favor of the smaller light at the very tip of the reef and decided it probably was because having the warning signal at the very point was more practical. That way, a ship needed only to clear the light without worrying about how far away from the light it had to pass.

"Let's go," Scotty said. "Nothing interesting about this relic."

They joined the group of men at the wreck of the Sea Belle and saw that the wreck was being inspected, probably by the insurance people. A question to one of the watchers affirmed the guess. Rick asked, "What do they expect to find?"

"Search me."

Scotty nudged Rick. "We won't have to look far for Cap'n Mike. There he is."

The old man was seated on a rock, whittling at a twig. Seemingly, he paid no attention to anything going on. Now and then he looked out to sea, but mostly he paid attention to his whittling.

Rick walked over, Scotty behind him. "Good morning, Cap'n Mike."

"'Morning, boys."

"Remember us?"

"Sure do. Where's the reporter?"

"He's not with us. We came down to do a little fishing."

Bright eyes twinkled at them. "Fishing, eh? What kind?"

"We thought we might get some blackfish at the end of the reef," Scotty replied.

"You might at that," Cap'n Mike said. "You might gets crabs off the end of the Creek House pier, too, if Red Kelso would let you try. Did you ask him?"

Rick grinned. Cap'n Mike might not seem to be paying attention, but evidently he didn't miss much.

"We didn't ask him," he said. "Maybe we didn't even see him." He knew Cap'n Mike could have seen the boat vanish upcreek and return, but he wouldn't have been able to see past the fence.

"Maybe you didn't," the old captain conceded. "But you sure saw somebody, and it had to be Kelso or that boy of his."

"Why do they want so much privacy?" Scotty demanded.

Cap'n Mike ignored the question. "You really got any fishing gear in that launch?"

"Hand lines," Rick said.

"That's good as anything. Now, I always say a man can't think proper in a mob like this. Too distracting. So let's go fishing and do some thinking. What say?"

Rick's glance met Scotty's. Cap'n Mike had his own way of doing things. They had nothing to lose by humoring him.

"Let's go," Scotty said.

As they passed the wreck, Rick stopped for a moment to look at it again. The air was even heavier than the night before with the reek of dead fish. They were scattered along the reef in shoals ten feet wide. By daylight he could see that the trawler was finished. She had broken her back and torn out a good part of her bottom. She must have been really making knots to hit like that.

"Cap'n, exactly what was the weather like when Tom Tyler hit?" Rick asked.

"Not bad. Visibility might have been less than real perfect, but it wouldn't have interfered with him seeing the light."

"Would it have interfered with him seeing the reef if the light had been out?"

"I reckon it would. Until he was right on it, anyway."

Rick turned the information over in his mind. "Were any other trawlers out last night?"

"Plenty. The Sea Belle was first in, but the rest were right behind. The light