ck nodded. The light was set atop a black piling. The color meant he
would have to pass it to port, then pick up the red beacon at the
entrance to the Narrows, passing the red beacon to starboard. This was
in accordance with the old sailors' rule: _red right returning_, which
means keep red markers and buoys on the starboard, or right, when
returning from seaward. It was fun navigating in strange waters. He had
never heard of Knapps Narrows a few days before, or of Tilghman Island,
where the Narrows were located. Nor had he heard of the Choptank River,
which lay just below the island.

The houseboat plowed ahead, its twin outboards purring. Its bow, rounded
like the front of a toboggan, slapped into a slight swell. Rick passed
the range light and headed for the red tower that marked the opening of
the Narrows. In a few moments they were in the Narrows, passing lines of
docked crab, oyster, and clam boats. There was a bridge ahead, with a
gasoline dock in its shadow. Rick gauged wind and current and decided
how he would maneuver into place. The current was heavy in the channel,
running in the direction in which he was headed.

"I'll nose in, and you jump off with a bowline," he directed Scotty.
"We'll let the stern swing around with the current. That will leave us
facing the way we came, so we won't have to turn when we leave."

In a short time the maneuver was completed. Rick edged the rounded nose
of the houseboat against the seawall as Scotty stepped ashore carrying
the bowline. He snubbed it tightly around a piling and held fast while
the ungainly boat swung with the current. Rick stepped to the seawall
with the stern line as the craft swung completely around, and the boys
made the boat fast.

"Now," Scotty said, "let's gas up and eat."

After filling the gas tanks, loading the icebox with fresh ice, and
topping off the water tank, the boys slipped into shirts, slacks, and
shoes, then headed for the restaurant that adjoined the dock. Over
delicious, spicy Maryland crab cakes and coffee, they talked with the
proprietor, a friendly, heavy-set Eastern Shore man who spoke with the
typical slurred accents of the region.

"Quite a boat you got there," the man said.

Rick grinned. "It does look sort of odd, but it's comfortable."

"Expect so. Thought it was a seagoin' flyin' saucer when I saw it comin'
through the Narrows."

Scotty munched crab cake appreciatively. "Seen many flying saucers
around here?" he asked