“They could not see these places unless they landed,” said Mark, looking sharply about him, “and there is no boat nor anything that would take their attention, only that.”
“Only what, my boy?” said Mrs Strong eagerly.
“That,” said Mark—“the fire. Jimpny, hold Bruff and don’t let him come after me. Lie down, sir. Let no one else show outside the trees.”
“What are you going to do, Mark?” cried Mary.
“Put out the fire,” he said quickly. “It will betray where we are.”
He did not hesitate, but going down upon hands and knees crept down the sand toward where, in the midst of the coral rocks, the fire was burning in what they had called the kitchen.
Fortunately it was clear and glowing, the smoke having given way to clear flame, but there was still a faint thread rising, and unless the Malays took it for steam from one of the hot springs they might land there to see, and if they did, though nothing was visible from a distance, the trampled sand and litter of the camp, as well as the tracks left by the keel of the boat, would show plainly enough that there were inhabitants in the isle.
Those within shelter watched intently as Mark got over the intervening space and disappeared behind the rocks, where, using his hands as shovels, he rapidly threw on quantities of sand till the fire was completely smothered out, and the birds roasting for their dinners destroyed.
This task accomplished, Mark crept back, satisfied that if seen by the Malays he would be taken for some animal, and as soon as he reached the shelter of the trees, rising upright and gazing between the trunks out to sea.
The stowaway was right; there were three praus now visible, and Bruff was growling angrily, as if he recognised enemies in every long low boat.