A form loomed up coming towards them. It was Candon.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE SAND
AT seven the next morning the digging began. At six, when Hank turned out of the tent, the aspect of the beach had changed. A north wind, rising before midnight, had blown steadily and strongly unheard and unheeded by the snoring sleepers in the tents. It died out after dawn.
Hank called George to look. Here and there away across the sands white spots were visible, some like the tops of gigantic mushrooms. One quite close to them showed as the top of a whale’s skull. Further on a huge rib hinted of itself. There were little sand-drifts on the windward side of the tents.
“Wind’s been shifting the sand,” said George, “it’s all over me.” His hair was full of sand and his pockets. Hank was in the same condition. Tommie came out of her tent blinking at the sun.
“Say, I’m all sand,” cried Tommie.
“Wind’s been blowing,” said Hank; “look at the bones.”
The sand seemed lower over the cache.