A few minutes later he made out figures of people running out of the bungalow. Plainly they had a glass, and were using it, for presently Tom saw them waving their arms wildly toward him.
“There’s more than our own party there,” muttered the boy, with a throb of gratitude. “That surely means they’ve been organizing an expedition to hunt for me.”
Just as soon as he was near enough, Halstead sounded several blasts lustily on the whistle. There was more waving of arms from the crowd before the bungalow. Halstead fancied he caught the faintest sound of distant cheering. Bye-and-bye he was sure of it. Now, it was a duet between whistles and cheers. Joe, Jeff and Henry Tremaine were leading the others in a mad scramble to the end of the pier.
Then, with a final, long blast from the whistle, Tom Halstead ran in close, rising as he did so.
Putting both hands to his mouth, Skipper Tom shouted:
“Here, you, Ham!”
“Yassuh!” shouted Mockus, dancing two or three reel steps.
“This is your especial treat! Hog the first look for yourself. I’m bringing you, tied hand and foot, the Ghost of Alligator Swamp!”