A few noiseless strokes put him inside the boat's path, but when he stopped paddling he realized to his horror that the boat had changed direction and was cutting in toward the island. It was almost upon him when he dived.
He was not quick enough. The landward oar caught him a flat blow across his eyes. Blinded, dazed, his mouth full of water, he flung up his arms. He had a vague sense of having caught hold of something, and he held on. Through a sort of mist he heard a voice saying laughingly:
"Hit a snag, John. Better be careful or you'll wreck the ship in sight of harbor."
Little by little Jerry's head cleared and he realized that he had caught hold of the stern of the boat. He could not see over the edge, but he could tell that there were two people in the boat, both men. They talked fitfully, but for the most part their voices came to Jerry only as meaningless mumbles. Once more the dark outline of Lost Island lay before him, and in Jerry's heart arose a new hope that perhaps this time he would not come away empty-handed. The boat grounded on the beach where he and Phil had stood only a few minutes before. The man who had been at the oars jumped out and pulled the boat well up on shore. Jerry, finding that he could touch bottom, had let go and now stood well hidden in the water.
"You might as well wait here in the boat," said the one who had gone ashore. "I won't be gone but a minute."
He moved up the bank. It was the same man Jerry had encountered twice before on his island visits. But who was the man in the boat? Jerry wished he dared come closer.
The minutes passed slowly, and the water did not feel as warm as it had at first. He was greatly relieved when once more he heard the rustle of someone coming through the tall grass. But though the sound came nearer and nearer, Jerry, his nerves literally on end, found the wait a long one. Would the man never get there?
But the delay was quickly explained. There were two instead of one crunching across the beach, and the other stumbled as he walked and would have fallen more than once had it not been for the supporting arm of his companion. Jerry could have shouted from joy had he dared, for some instinct told him that that swaying form belonged to no one but his chum, Tod Fulton.
And then, in an instant, the mystery was all made clear—at least for the instant. The man in the boat rose and struck a match so that the other could see to help wobbly Tod to a seat. As the light flared up full, Jerry had a good sight of the face of the man who stood waiting.
It was Mr. Fulton!