Summary

Noel Sainsbury Bill Bolton and Hidden Danger

A ten-mile breeze blowing in from the sea rustled the treetops and shadows cast by a full moon danced over the undergrowth. Clouds were banking to the eastward, the salt tang of the ocean was in the air. Bill sensed rain or a storm and was glad that the cloud formation, creeping upward, would shortly blot out the silvery light. Should they be forced to land on Pig Island in moonlight nearly as bright as day, the odds would be all with their enemies.
Osceola, with that natural bump of direction which is inherent in all races of American Indians, struck an overgrown deer track and followed it.
Source: Gutenberg

Noel Sainsbury Bill Bolton and Hidden Danger

Bill said evenly, “I’m not posing as a saint, but I tell you to your face I think you’re one of the lowest sorts of cads I’ve ever met. You’re not clever enough to get Mr. Evans yourself, so you come sneaking along and try to bribe one of his friends. But you’ve struck the wrong guy. You can keep your filthy money. You can offer a share of your rotten business, whatever it is, to anybody who is rotten enough to go in with you. Is that plain English, or do you want me to make it plainer?”
As if Bill had touched a button, Sanders’ face changed.
Source: Gutenberg

Noel Sainsbury Bill Bolton and Hidden Danger

With all the vigor he could summon, Bill struck across the current. But when he paused in exhaustion to observe his progress, he saw that it was useless. He had already been swept past the island. It was out of his range.
Wearily, Bill shut his eyes, gasping for breath, and felt the power melting away from his numbed limbs. Then hazily he noticed that the island seemed nearer—or was that but a last illusion before the end? No! The rocks were towering above him. He realized that he had been swept around on the current to the seaward side, and that the mainland was out of sight.
Source: Gutenberg

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