A sudden idea occurred to him. Retracing his steps through the icy cold water, he came to the shore where Burroughs was anxiously awaiting his return, and waded to the hydroplane. From this he took the boat-hook, a long light pole of bamboo. Then putting his fingers to his lips, he set off again through the water, in nervous dread lest, short as his absence had been, the pursuers had had time to come back to their boat.
To his great relief, when he reached the spot, nobody was in sight. The boat remained as he had left it. Standing concealed among the reeds, he thrust the boat-hook forward, and after a few seconds' groping caught the hidden stern of the boat and drew it gently towards him--slowly and carefully, so as to make the least possible noise. The boat had not been tied up. It slid down the shelving bank inch by inch until it floated. Errington drew it on, through the reeds, which rustled unavoidably as it passed through them; then, turning his back, he towed it as rapidly as he could up the waterway towards his own island.
"Marooned, old chap," he said cheerfully to Burroughs, who started up in amazement. "But the water's deadly cold!"
CHAPTER XX
WILL-O'-THE-WISP
Six men had landed from the boat, convinced that they had come to the island from which the sound of hammering had proceeded. Their guide was somewhat perplexed at the absence of huts, but concluded that he had come to another part of the island, and led his companions through a tangle of shrubs and brushwood, expecting to come upon the huts from the rear. But ten minutes' search over the ground proved him to be mistaken, and the party retraced their steps, intending to proceed farther in their boat.
They stood rooted in consternation when, reaching the spot where they had left the boat, they discovered its disappearance. But it did not occur to them at first that any stealthy hand had been concerned. One reviled another for not having drawn the boat high enough up the shore, supposing that it had slipped down by its own weight. The strange thing was that, there being little or no current, it had so completely disappeared. They ran up and down the banks peering into the rushes, becoming more and more angry and perplexed as the suspicion dawned upon them that the boat had been stolen.
Meanwhile Errington had explained to Burroughs what had happened. They were congratulating themselves on having at least won a respite, during which the repairing of the stay might be finished, when they heard a loud shout from the men who had thus been marooned.
"There were two boats last night," said Errington. "They're calling to the other."
The shout was repeated, several men calling together. And then came a faint call in answer.