“What are they doing?”
“Digging!”
The boys had followed the men to a lonely part of the island, where the wind howled through the trees when it came down in fitful gusts, or moaned when it sank low.
The booming of the surf was like the steady roar of a distant battery in action. The night seemed full of alarms and terrors.
Frank had followed the unknown men with the skill of an Indian trailer. The others had followed him with less skill, but the sounds of the storm had favored them by drowning such noises as they made while stumbling along through the darkness.
At last the men had stopped, and, bit by bit, the boys had crept upon them.
There was a gleam of light to guide them. The lights came from two dark lanterns, the sides of which had been opened. The lanterns were held to aid the men who were at work.
Clink-clank! clink-clank! clink-clank!
One man was plying a pick. After a little he paused.
Scrape-swish! scrape-swish!