By this time, the tide definitely had turned. While Ken, Willie and War rested, Jack made a quick tour of the beach. He returned shortly to report that the other boxes apparently had not washed ashore.
“They may roll up tomorrow, or maybe never,” he declared.
“Captain Carter sure would get a big kick out of this,” Willie remarked. “He’d consider it a huge joke on us. It certainly goes against my grain to do him a favor.”
“We’re doing ourselves a bigger one,” Ken pointed out. “If we don’t get out of Cuertos soon, I have a hunch our expedition will stall for good!”
“Maybe Father Francisco is right,” War remarked thoughtfully. “Maybe it is foolish for us to try to find Burton Monahan. If he’s been gone so many months, he must be dead.”
“Hey, listen!” Willie suddenly exclaimed.
The others became silent. A peculiar sound, distinguishable as the hum of many angry voices, plainly could be heard.
“What’s up?” Jack muttered, scrambling to his feet.
At first the Explorers could see no one. Then they sighted at least thirty villagers armed with clubs, coming down a steep cliff trail.
“A regular mob!” War observed nervously. “Heading this way too!”