They hobbled along the beach where it was hard going, and Midkiff stepped on a pebble that gave him a pretty stone bruise.
"Let's take to the water," the big fellow proposed. "This is no fun."
"Right! It doesn't tickle one's funny-bone to any extensive degree," rejoined his friend. "But do you know where the Spoondrift is?"
"Of course not. That's up to you."
"Thanks. Well, I don't know its location—not from here. We've got to get around to that place where we landed. I marked that."
"Come on——" Midkiff choked his words short as there came a shout over their heads.
"This way, Horrors!" yelled the voice of the chap named Kirby. "They came this way. I heard 'em then."
"Heard 'em what—splashing? They came in a boat—if they didn't fly to the island," was the reply.
"Heard 'em talking," Kirby called back.
The two Walcott Hall youths had seized each other's hand simultaneously, warning each other to silence. Now Kingdon stooped, secured a branch upon which he had stepped the moment before, and began to splash in the water with it.