The comrades forgot chilliness and discomfort in a sharp, inspiring run during the next half-hour. Phil handled the heavy sail superbly, and Andy obeyed orders promptly. Each felt sure that the friendly darkness protected them against the possibility of those on the _Vixen_ locating them, for that night at least. They ran down the coast line in a southerly direction, keeping about a mile from shore and looking out for lights that might indicate another craft afloat, but met with none of such. As they eased up a little, Andy called once to his comrade. "What's the programme, Phil?" "To get this boat fast and sure where those Tories will never be able to find it again--especially its load." "Good! You won't land at Storm Cove, of course." "Hardly, seeing we are running south away from it as fast as we can." Andy laughed gleefully. The task they were engaged in just suited his volatile spirits. "Imagine what those _Vixen_ fellows will say when they find this boat gone. Oh, this is a famous adventure, Phil!" "We mustn't forget Burt Noble's share in it," observed Phil. "I hope we meet him soon in Boston." "Going to Boston, are we?" queried Andy. "That's where we started for, isn't it?" said Phil, with a smile. "Yes, but you don't suppose we can ever get into the Bay without being challenged and stopped by the Britishers?" "Oh, I'm not thinking of going to Boston by water route. You see, Andy, we probably have a valuable cargo aboard, or rather I should say an important cargo." "Munitions of war and all that, eh, Phil?" appended Andy glibly. "If I can get my bearings from having been up and down the coast here more than once," pursued Phil, "I shall feel pretty good when we locate Sandy Creek." "What's Sandy Creek? Where is it?" asked Andy. "It's the feeder from a sort of a swamp lake running into the ocean. At the inland end of the lake is a little settlement called Bordenville. I have a cousin living there named Ralph Post. He used to be a sailor, but lives now with a Mr. Eaton, who is a staunch patriot, and who has done lots of good for the cause. I know of no one who would know just what to do about the sailboat and its load as well as Mr. Eaton. Then, too, he keeps posted on everything that is going on, and he can tell us just how things are in Boston." "Capital!" cried Andy. Then there was a spell of silence, while Phil kept as near to the shore as was wise, trying to catch sight of some guiding landmark. "I know where I am," he said at last. "That rocky point we just rounded is about a mile north of the creek. Now then, not to miss it in the dark." It must have been nearly midnight when the sailboat stuck in a mass of high reeds. Phil and Andy waded to the edge of a swampy reach they had gained through some skilful handling of the craft into the creek and across the lake Phil had described to his comrade.