The little basin of the Sly Hole lay below. Looking down, they could make out a dark object at the water's edge.
"There's their boat!" whispered Jim. "They're still on the island."
Spang!
Another report from the pasture beyond the evergreens echoed emphatic confirmation to his statement. Jim took two steps toward the sound, then stopped.
"Not yet! I know a better way. Stay here and keep watch."
He scrambled down to the beach. There was a slight grating of gravel, and presently the boat was afloat. Noiselessly, under Spurling's skilful sculling, it slipped out of the cove and vanished behind the ledges to the east. Before long Jim was back with his companions.
"I've made their dory fast in a little gulch among the rockweed," said he. "They'd have a hard time to find it unless somebody told 'em where it is. They can't get away without having a reckoning with us."
Spang-spang-spang!
Three reports in quick succession. Jim laughed.
"Wasting a lot of cartridges! Must want that mutton pretty bad! Either they're awful poor shots or they've made the sheep so wild they can't get anywhere near 'em. There's their vessel!"