When Chet and Biff hastened up they failed to notice, in the inky blackness, that the trail branched two ways. Chet was in the lead and his footsteps brought him to the right. He could not hear the footsteps of the Hardy boys ahead but he judged that they were so far in advance that he could not hear them.
Their pursuers had become scattered. Some were pursuing them down the trail. Others were skirting the grove, intending to watch the shore. In the distance they could see occasional flashes of light. Once or twice there was a revolver shot.
"It won't go so well with us if they see us this time," called Frank back to his brother.
"If we can only beat them to the boat we'll be all right," panted Joe.
They emerged from the grove. They could see the white line of the surf ahead and the gray shapes of the rocks along the shore. The cove lay below.
The Hardy boys raced down the rocky slope. Only then did they become aware of the fact that their chums were not following.
Frank stopped and turned.
"Where are Chet and Biff?" he asked, startled.
"I thought they were right behind," replied Joe blankly.
They listened. There were no sounds of running footsteps down the trail. Back in the grove they could hear a frenzied crackling of branches, but whether it was caused by their comrades or by their pursuers they could not tell.