Was that a small sail away to the west? He had no glass, and could not be sure. If it was, the craft was so close under the island that it almost immediately was wiped from the range of his vision. It might have been nothing but a flash of surf. If it were a boat, it had been beached in safety by its crew, who feared the threatening aspect of sea and sky more than they did the sign-boards of the Manatee Lumber Company.
Rex was climbing down from the eminence when he fancied he felt the bowlder move under him. His efforts to descend seemed to contribute a rocking motion to the granite.
"A rocking stone?" muttered Kingdon, leaping down. "If it is so easily tipped off its balance——"
He tried a dozen times, and from as many angles, to rock the bowlder. It weighed several tons and of course he might as well have taken hold of the corner of Old Hall and tried to topple it over.
Finally he went back to the tent, for the other fellows were calling him.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A LUCKY MOVE.
The wind began droning like a monster pipe-organ through the wood. The thunder of the surf sent its solemn cadence to their ears from the seaward side of Storm Island. Night was shutting down threateningly and pregnant with the possibility of coming disaster.
They were comfortable enough under the break of the hill. If worse came to worse, they could clip aboard the Spoondrift and take shelter in her cabin. She was not likely to pitch much here in the cove, with the wind in its present quarter.
Red took Peewee in his arms, despite that infant's strenuous objections, and sang to him: