“Open your knife, Jem.”
“Right, my lad; I’m ready.”
“This way, then. Hist!”
Don caught Jem’s arm in a firm grip as he was moving along the deck, each feeling somewhat agitated at the daring venture of exchanging firm planks for the treacherous sea, infested as they knew it was by horrible creatures which could tear them limb from limb.
Jem had heard a sound at the same moment, and he needed no telling that he should listen.
For from some distance off along the shore there was a faint splash, and, as they strained their eyes in the direction from whence it had come, they could see flashes of pale light, which they knew were caused by paddles.
“It’s them, Jem,” whispered Don, excitedly. “We must not start yet till the canoe is close up. I wish I had told him that I would make some signal.”
“It’ll be all right, my lad,” said Jem huskily. “Give ’em time. Think the watch ’ll see ’em?”
“I hope not,” panted Don, as he strained his eyes in the direction of the faintly flashing paddles, which seemed to be moved very cautiously.
“Think it is them, Jem?”