either he nor Scotty believed
in flying saucers--at least, not in saucers that kidnaped people, and
the object Rick had seen had not been saucer-like. It had been shaped
like a stingaree.

Stingarees don't fly.

Rick smiled to himself. During another vacation, skin diving in the
Virgin Islands, he and Scotty had proved that octopuses don't wail. But
if stingarees don't fly, he asked himself, what looks like a stingaree
and _does_ fly?

He realized suddenly that the sound of the motor was louder once again.
Someone investigating the houseboat? He swung out of bed. The cool air
of morning was in sharp contrast to the warmth of his sleeping bag.
Quickly he slipped into shorts and sweat shirt. As he opened the cabin
door, he heard the slap of bare feet on the deck behind him and turned
to see Scotty regain his balance after dropping from the upper bunk.

"Go ahead," Scotty called. "Be right with you."

"Okay." Rick stepped out into the cockpit and glanced around. It was a
lovely morning. The ever-present birds of the Chesapeake area were
already active. A huge blue heron stepped daintily in the shallows like
a stilt walker afraid of falling over. The heron was looking for small
fish or anything that moved and was edible. An osprey, the great fish
hawk of the bay region, swooped overhead on lazy wings, sharp eyes alert
for small fish near the water's surface. In the pine woods behind the
shore marsh, a bluejay called, its voice like a squeaky hinge.

The motor sound was distant now, and the shore upstream blocked Rick's
view. Then, as he watched, a long, low, white motorboat came into sight.
Its bow was vertical, its sides low. There was no cabin. Amidships was a
single man, clad in overalls and a denim shirt. The man was surrounded
by bushel baskets, and he held a long-handled crab net made of chicken
wire.

Rick watched with interest. On one side of the boat was a roller that
extended out over the water. A heavy cord came out of the water, crossed
the roller, and dipped back into the water again. Every few feet there
was a chunk of something on the cord, apparently bait. As Rick watched,
a piece of bait came up with a crab clinging to it. The net swooped and
the crab was caught, pulled inboard, and dumped into a bushel basket
with one fluid motion. The crabber never took his eyes from the cord.
The boat continued in a straight line.

Scotty came out on deck and joined Rick. The boys watched in silence
while the m