“No.”
“Not cut his letters there?” cried Bart, in a wondering tone.
“No, man, no. Do you suppose I am going to leave him here?”
Bart closed his knife with a click, and screwed up his face.
“You’re captain,” he said, quietly; “what next?”
“Back to the boat.”
Bart obeyed without another word, and as they walked down over the hot sand, it was to pass several of the land-crabs, which rolled their eyes and leered at them in a goblin way till the boat was launched, the sail hoisted, and they coasted the side of the island to get round to its back, and make sure that the schooner had not cast anchor off this—one of the rendezvous for boats which had missed the schooner after being sent away upon some expedition.
But their sail availed them nothing. The schooner was not off the island, and Bart looked at his companion for orders.
“It would take three days to reach the shelter,” he said at last.
“With this wind—yes,” replied Bart. “No food, no water. Shall us get some nuts?”