Only one person had advanced any theory other than that the launch party had been in some way wrecked and lost in the storm. One man had suggested that perhaps Marian and Pearson had eloped,—an idea that caused more than a few smiles even at that time, for an eloping couple would have been so likely to take the lady’s four small brothers and sisters with them. Just how any accident could have occurred was a mystery, but that one had happened no one doubted.
Old Mr. Faston had, indeed, told of Delbert’s remark to him that they were going to Smugglers’ Island, but Bobbie and the other children told of playing pirate and smuggler on a sandbar of one of the Rosalies, and the childish game was, of course, thought to be the reason of Delbert’s statement.
So time passed. The Hadleys had gone from the Port, Delbert’s chickens were added to Bobbie’s flock, a Mexican family moved into “the safest house in town,” Mr. Cunningham bought a new launch, and, so far as the Port was concerned, the incident was closed.
CHAPTER III
COMMISSARY MATTERS
But for Marian in the midst of her hungry, grimy little flock the incident was far from closed. Indeed, it was only begun.
When their food was all gone but the can of tomatoes and a part of the crackers, she made up her mind that nothing but accidental help could be looked for. No one, not even her parents, knew anything about Smugglers’ Island, and probably they were thought to have perished in the storm. Perhaps Mr. Pearson had been swamped and drowned. In the course of time some one would come into San Moros for something,—Indians hunting turtles maybe,—but it might be long months before they saw a human being besides themselves. There was no one to rely upon but themselves; whatever was done they must do themselves.
Looking at the cluster of tousled heads, Marian set her teeth together and clenched her hands tightly. The fierce protective spirit of motherhood swept over her. They were hers, these little ones; come what would, they should not perish, they should be fed, sheltered, cared for. They should have their child’s rights of tender love and happiness. Esther, running up just then, was caught in a close embrace and kissed fervently.
The Cave afforded the best shelter for night that they could find. As soon as things were dried up a little from the storm, Marian set about improving it somewhat. For tools she had only the hatchet, Esther’s spade, the dig-spoon, and Delbert’s knife and lariat.
With the hatchet she cut sticks and brush and with the lariat dragged them up to the Cave, where she and Delbert made them as best they could into a sort of roof for the space between the Cave and the big rock in front. It was crude work, of course, but it gave shade and to some extent served as a wind-break, at least. It was just high enough to stand up under.