"There is," said Mr. Barclay, to the delight of Frank and his companion. "It appears that they intend to land a parcel of dope and some Chinamen at a place down the Straits of Fuca. It will be done at night--the moon will be only in her first quarter next week--and the schooner will stand out to the westward, keeping clear of the traffic to wait for the next evening before going on to the place where she's to make another call. The men and the dope will be seized soon after they're put ashore without anybody on board the vessel being the wiser if our plans work out right, but it's important that we should know as soon as possible if anything has gone wrong and it will be your business to bring me on a message. We'll have a small steamer and a posse hidden ready at this end, and when the schooner runs in two nights later she'll fall into our hands with the rest of the gang, who'll be waiting for what she brings." Frank looked at Mr. Oliver, who nodded his consent. "Yes," he said, "I've promised to let you go, though in this case you'll have to take Jake along." Then Mr. Barclay spread out a chart upon the table and pointed first to an inlet which appeared to lie at some distance from any settlement. "You'll run in here in the dark and lie close in with the beach until you're hailed by a mounted messenger, which will probably be early on the following morning. When he has given you his message you must manage to deliver it to me here"--he laid his finger on another spot on the chart--"at the latest by the second evening following. That's important, as it's impossible for me to get the news by mail or wire." He gave them some further instructions, and half an hour had slipped by before he seemed satisfied that they knew exactly what they were to do; then he nodded. "I think you've got it right," he said. "The great thing is not to be seen if you can help it, and if it's possible you must only run in at either place in the dark." The boys spent the next two days in a state of eager anticipation, which, however, became much less marked when one lowering afternoon after a long, cold sail they beat the sloop out to the westward down the Straits of Fuca. They had kept watch alternately with Jake during the previous night, throughout most of which it had rained hard, and now Frank, who admitted to himself that he had had enough sailing for a while, was feeling rather limp and weary. He sat beneath the coaming, as far as he could get out of the bitter wind. When at last he raised his head to look about him, he saw nothing very cheerful in the prospect before him.