Kingdon pointed her for the sheltered gulf that indented the island coastline, which he had noticed when they battled with the squall the day they had reached Storm Island.
"We'll have to stay aboard all night, I suppose?" Cloudman groaned. "Oh, boy! Terra firma for mine as soon as possible!"
"We might as well stay on the boat," Midkiff said. "No knowing what those other fellows have done to our camp."
"Cheerful, aren't you, Jawn?" chuckled Kingdon.
At that moment Peewee Hicks seemed suddenly to have a brainstorm. He had crept forward and was standing, hanging to a stay, looking off at the tumbling sea east of the island. Now he began to dance and yell.
"Come down out of that!" ordered Red Phillips. "What are you—going crazy? That's no place to be fox-trotting."
"Look there! See 'em! There's going to be a mess now."
"What do you mean?" questioned Red, climbing gingerly upon the deck to get a glimpse of what Peewee evidently saw.
The bulging sail shut out Rex Kingdon's vision. He called to know the cause of the disturbance. Red Phillips turned a perfectly pallid countenance to the stern, shouting:
"Canoes! Blown off shore, I guess. Two fellows in each, Rex. What will we do about it?"