The creek mouth was in sight. He pointed to it for Scotty's benefit, but when he turned to look at his pal, the driving rain slashed into his eyes and made him look away. Scotty had seen the creek mouth. Staying as close to shore as he dared, Scotty drove the houseboat to within fifty yards of the narrow mouth, then swung the helm hard. The wind, which had been astern, was now abeam and its force was acting on the high side of the boat. The houseboat slewed sideways, and for a moment Rick thought they would be driven on to the upstream bank of the creek. But Scotty had judged his distance and wind pressure well. The boat shot into the creek mouth with feet to spare. The cove opened up ahead. Scotty reversed one motor and the houseboat turned almost in its own length. Rick watched the shore through squinting eyes, and the moment he saw the boat's forward motion cease, he dropped the big anchor over. The wind caught the houseboat again and drove it backward into the cove while the anchor line ran out. When he had enough line out for safety, Rick snubbed it tight around a cleat, held the taut line between thumb and forefinger until he was sure it had none of the vibrations caused by a dragging anchor, and then hurried back along the catwalk to the cockpit. He and Scotty ran from the rainswept deck down the two steps into the cabin. For a moment the two stood grinning at each other and listening to the heavy drumming of the rain on the cabin top, then Rick spoke. "We'd better get out of these wet clothes so we can sit down. This may last for an hour or so." Scotty agreed. "First one into dry shorts makes the coffee." "That's me," Rick said. He stripped off the soaking clothes, toweled quickly, and put on dry shorts. The rain had chilled the air, so he reached into the drawer under the amidships bunks, took out a sweat shirt, and pulled it over his head. It felt good. Scotty had taken time to dry off the books and binoculars he had brought from the deck before he changed his own clothes. By the time he was dressed in dry shorts and sweater, Rick had the alcohol stove going and water heating for coffee. "Know where we are?" Rick asked casually. "Sure. We're--" Scotty stopped. "For Pete's sake! I didn't make the connection at first. We're in Swamp Creek, where that man got snatched by a flying saucer!" "Right. Worried?" Scotty grinned. "Any flying saucer that can navigate in this weather is welcome to what it gets. How's the anchor?" "Holding," Rick said. "I hope." He looked out the galley window and watched the shore. It changed position as the boat moved, but that was only because the houseboat was swinging at anchor. "Seems all right," he added. Ten minutes later coffee was ready. The boys sat at the dinette table and sipped with relish, listening to the storm outside. It seemed to be increasing in intensity. "Picking up," Scotty said. "The guidebook wasn't kidding when it said 'sudden and severe summer storms lash the bay.'"