The boat had disappeared.
At first the young photographer could scarcely believe his senses. What had become of Casco and the craft?
“Perhaps she filled with water and sunk,” thought Bob. “In that case he would have to take to the islands. I wish I could keep him there till I could get assistance.”
But Bob knew better than to leave the spot at once. Casco was a wily villain, and not one of the kind to be caught like a rat in a trap.
“As soon as I disappear, he’ll think I’ve gone to summon assistance, and then he’ll come ashore,” was the way Bob reasoned. “I think I’ll play a watching game.”
Bob sat down on a rock, out of the sight of the islands, and waited. Ten minutes passed and he saw nothing to command his attention.
“He is certainly taking his time,” thought the youth. “Hullo, what’s that?”
Bob’s attention was attracted to a small boat which had suddenly shot out from the opposite shore.
The craft contained a single occupant, an old man, who worked away at the oars in a feeble way.
“He must be going to the islands, too,” thought the young photographer. “This begins to look interesting.”