The air of the room was already turned to a gray haze of smoke, smoke that made the eyes smart, the smoke of burning hibiscus and poison oak and bay cedar bush, choking and suffocating fumes, followed now by flames as the wretches outside flung coconut shells on the fire, shells that blazed like flare lamps once ignited.
"The place will burn like a torch," said Floyd, "once the scantling gets alight. Listen! What's that above? They have got on the roof; they are lighting it. We must quit and make a dash for the dinghy. It's our only chance. Wait!"
He rushed into the smaller room, and returned with something in his hands. It was the tin box holding the pearls.
He opened it, emptied the contents wrapped in cotton wool, and filled his pockets.
"I'm not going to leave these behind," said he, speaking as if to himself. Then to Isbel: "Take a revolver and this package of ammunition. I'll take the other and a rifle. Unbar the door and run first. Don't stop to fire unless you can't help. Hark! What's that?"
A sound like a sharp clap of thunder shook the air and was followed by a yell from the grove behind the house and from the beach on either side.
"Open the door!" said Floyd.
Isbel undid the bars, and flung the door wide. Instantly the draft settling from the grove filled the place with volumes of smoke.
"Now," said Floyd, "run!"
They dashed out of the house, across the beach, running, half blind with the effects of the smoke. They had expected a flight of spears. They found instead an empty beach, full dawn, and a reef over which the last of their assailants were scrambling.