“Yes, we did, Mr. Hampton. Thought this was going to be a loafing assignment you left us on—nothing to do but hang around camp and swim and fish—and the minute you turn your backs something happens.”
“How’s Frank?”
Mr. Hampton nodded.
“He’s still asleep,” said Bob. “The necessity of shooting to kill was a shock to his nerves. Nature took him in hand. See.” He indicated where Frank lay as in a stupor in the tent, unmoved by the arrival of the returning party.
“He’ll sleep for hours yet,” said Mr. Hampton, “if we don’t make too much noise. I’ll caution the others. Best medicine in the world for him. He’ll be all right when he wakes, I expect.”
While Dick put on the fish, for all were hungry, Bob and Jack, in lowered voices, told the others all that had occurred. Bob repeated his condemnation of himself for having fallen asleep and permitted the enemy to land unopposed, but Mr. Hampton rested a hand on his shoulder, and told him not to be foolish.
“In the first place,” he said, “there seemed to be no reason why you should keep strict watch. It hardly seemed likely these fellows would boldly approach the island.”
“Expect they saw us set out, after all,” suggested MacDonald, “and figured the whole party hadn’t gone, and that them left behind would be on ’tother side of the island, so’s they could land and surprise ’em.”
Nods of agreement followed this statement. It was, indeed, the most likely explanation. Over the puzzle as to why Bob had not been slain by those attacking him, but who, instead, had tried merely to make him prisoner, nobody had any suggestion to offer other than that earlier advanced by the boys themselves, that they enemy wished to take them alive.