It was the voice of Jabe calling. The very sound made Halstead shiver, at first.
“Kink, Ah say! Kain’t yo’ heah me?”
“Oo-oo-oo-ee!” shrilled Tom, knowing that to speak would be to betray himself.
Then back toward the jungle stole the motor boat boy, close up to the point where a barely distinguishable path ran through. Here he dropped to one knee, holding the rifle to his shoulder.
“Kink, yo’——”
Jabe, coming through the bushes just then, stopped short, blinking fast, his knees trembling and knocking together.
“You know just what is in the wind,” warned Tom’s low voice. “I’ve only to pull the trigger of this gun. Now, get ahead of me and march, without tricks!”
Caught like this, looking straight down into the muzzle of a gun behind which was a pale, resolute face, Jabe allowed himself to show the white feather. He marched, as ordered, throwing himself on his face close by the bow of the launch.
With Jabe Tom Halstead repeated the tactics he had employed against Kink, though he took pains to make the lashings and the knots doubly secure. Then Jabe, bound and gagged, and with but bare freedom of action for his feet, was helped over into the launch beside his friend.
“Now, you two start any kind of motion or sound, if you want to see just what a sailor would do under such circumstances,” warned Halstead, in a low, dry tone.