"And the cord on my wrists is cutting right into the flesh," said Sam.
"If we were the heroes of a dime novel we'd shoo these ropes away in a jiffy," went on Tom, with a grin his brothers could not see. "But being plain, everyday American boys I'm afraid we'll have to stay tied up until somebody comes to cut us loose."
"Oh, for a faithful dog!" sighed Sam. "I saw a moving picture once in which a dog came and untied a girl who was fastened to a tree. I'd give as much as five dollars for that dog right now."
"Make it six and a half, Sam, and I'll go half," answered Tom.
"Well, this is no joke," declared Dick, almost severely. "We must get free somehow—or they'll get that treasure and be off with it before father and the others have a chance to land. We've got to do something."
They all agreed they "had to do something," but what that something was to be was not clear. They worked over their bonds until their wrists were cut and bleeding and then gave the task up. It was so dark they could see each other but dimly, and the darkness and quietness made them anything but lighthearted.
"Supposing some wild beast comes to chew us up," said Sam, presently, after a silence that was positively painful.
"We know there are no big beasts on these islands," answered Dick. "Don't worry yourself unnecessarily, Sam. We've got troubles enough as it is."
"The only beasts here are human beasts," said Tom, "and their names are Merrick, Sobber, Cuffer and Shelley," and he said this so dryly his brothers had to laugh.
Slowly the night wore away, each hour dragging more than that which preceded it. Two or three times the boys tried again to liberate themselves, but fared no better than before, indeed, Dick fared worse, for he came close to spraining his left wrist. The pain for a while was intense and it was all he could do to keep from crying out.