Ratcliffe felt pretty much the same.
“I’ll finish the business myself,” said Satan. “You can knock off if you like. Go’n hunt for turkles’ eggs.”
“I’m going,” said Jude.
“I’ll come along, too,” said Ratcliffe.
Satan ferried them over to the sands. It was about two hours before sundown, and an easterly breeze was blowing fresh and cool, shivering up the lagoon water and whispering among the sand-grains.
Jude walked despondently as they trudged along close to the sea edge and discovering nothing.
“D’you know,” said Ratcliffe, “we’ve never even started to hunt for a sign of the Nombre de Dios? I wonder if she’s sunk, really, anywhere near here?”
“I dunno,” said Jude; “don’t care, nuther. Satan’s so full of his pesky old fittings he’s no time to think of anything else.”
“Cheer up, Jude.”
“I’m all right.”