“I wouldn’t sleep ’ere a night,” cried Dave, “with that cove on the island, not for anything.”
“I’d rather sleep on a jumper ant’s nest,” agreed Tom. “The only thing we got to do is keep quiet, an’ wait till the tide rises. Then we’ll shove the boat off quietly and go further down the river.”
Having decided on this plan, they felt more comfortable. After a while Tom even got courage enough to sneak back to where he had dropped his swag.
He returned to report that the black-bearded man was still sleeping. Tom said he looked more awful and wicked than ever.
They munched some food quietly, and feeling almost secure in the heart of the thicket wherein they had crawled, Nature asserted herself, and they both fell asleep.
It was past noon when Tom started up and woke his mate.
“The tide’s up,” he whispered. “We better run the risk of bein’ seen from the shore in the boat than stay ’ere and be killed by a cold-blooded murderer like that.”
They crept through the scrub and lantana as quietly as they could.
Tom took a good look round, and announced that the coast was clear. The water was well up astern, and they began to push at the bow of the boat to launch her.