“Well we’ve got him now, and I will settle my score with him.”
Frank knew the voice of the last speaker, and he realized that he was in the power of a man who had become his fiercest enemy—Parker Flynn.
As they carried him, Frank strained at the cords that held his wrists, but they held fast, showing that the men had tied him securely. They did not feel him straining, for they were stumbling over the rough ground, slowly picking their way through the darkness. They passed through some cedars, and the branches slapped the captive in the face.
Frank thought of crying for help, but something told him that it would be useless to make an outcry. He remembered that Hodge had been cast from the rocks into the water of the little cove, from which the launch and the two lads left in charge of it had disappeared.
What had become of Diamond and Dustan? Had they been assailed and overcome while Frank and Bart were exploring the island? Merriwell feared so.
The wind rushed through the cedars, and the surf beat against the island with a roar that seemed growing louder and louder. Clouds were in the sky, and the stars were being blotted out.
“Storm comin’,” said one of the men. “We ain’t anchored in a very good place, either.”
“We’ll move,” said Flynn’s voice.
“Not to-night.”
“Yes.”