“Are we downhearted?” demanded Betty, and together we answered: “No!”
It was immediately after this that we once more saw the captain. I was preparing to go out and clean the bird, and as I parted the branches a boat from the yacht, rowed by four men, with Brack at the rudder, came rushing down the fiord and steered for the beach directly below where we were hidden.
Betty saw me start and sprang to my side. Neither of us said a word while we watched the boat come to land. As the men sprang out and hurried into the brush we drew back to the rear of the cave, sat down on the canoe, and looked at each other.
“It’s my fault,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t have fired that shot. They heard it. Don’t give up, though. They haven’t found us yet.”
“I wonder if they are coming here?” she whispered back.
I went back to the opening and peered cautiously through the branches. The men, even Captain Brack, were crouched down in the shelter of a huge boulder, and Brack was giving them directions.
Immediately they scattered, and began to work up the hill. They did not come directly toward the cave but went slightly to the north, in the direction where I had fired my pistol.
The caution with which they moved puzzled me. They crouched and ran from tree to tree, keeping in cover as much as possible, peering around carefully, their rifles always ready. Brack brought up the rear. The other men appeared almost frightened and it seemed that only his presence drove them forward.
“They’re searching the hill, but they’re not coming in this direction,” I whispered as I drew back to Betty. “Apparently they don’t know the exact location of this cave.”
“Do you think they will find it?”