It was shortly after the meal, partaken of while the little boat was pitching and tossing on a long ground swell, that the younger lad, who had stationed himself in the bow, called out:
“Land ho!”
“Where away?” demanded Frank.
“Dead ahead.”
“It’s the island, all right,” exclaimed Frank. “I laid a straighter course for it than I thought.”
In a little while the barren speck loomed up more plainly. As they approached closer the boys eagerly scanned the shores for a sight of the mysterious man, or the wrecked motor boat. But they saw nothing, even through the powerful glasses they used.
“Now to tie up and go ashore,” said Frank, after the circuit was completed. A little later the anchor splashed into the shallow waters of the inlet and the two brothers were rowing ashore.
“Look out for yourself, Mr. Mysterious Man!” exclaimed Andy, as he stepped out of the moat. “We’re on your trail.”
“Bur-r-r-r! It’s as desolate as the place where Robinson Crusoe was stranded!” cried Frank, as he looked about.
Overhead gulls were wheeling and circling with noisy cries, but this was the only sign of life on Cliff Island.