Finally came a day with a difference. The men retired to the forest as usual but, by an apparent inadvertence, they left the door of the Clubhouse open a crack.
As usual the girls followed the men to the lake, but this time there was a different air about them; they seemed to bubble with excitement. The men crawled under the underbrush and waited. The girls made a perfunctory search of the jungle and then, as at a concerted signal, they darted like bolts of lightning back in the direction of the camp.
“I think we’ve got them, boys,” said Frank. There was a kind of Berserker excitement about him, a wild note of triumph in his voice and a white flare of triumph in his face. His breath came in excited gusts and his nostrils dilated under the strain.
“I’m sure of it,” agreed Ralph. “And, by Jove, I’m glad. I’ve never had anything so get on my nerves as this chase.” Ralph did, indeed, look worn. Haggard and wild-eyed, he was shaking under the strain.
“Lord, I’m glad—but, Lord, it’s some responsibility,” said Honey Smith. Honey was not white or drawn. He did not shake. But he had changed. Still radiantly youthful, there was a new look in his face—resolution.
“I feel like a mucker,” groaned Billy. He lay face down on a heap of vines, his forehead pressed against the cool leaves. “But it is right,” he added as one arguing fiercely with himself. “It is right. There’s no other way.”
“I feel like a white slaver,” said Pete. He was unshaven and the black shadow of his beard contrasted sharply with the white set look in his face. “It’s hell to live, isn’t it? But the worst of it is, we must live.”
“Time’s up.” Frank breathed these words on the long gust of his outgoing breath. “Now, don’t go to pieces. Remember, it must be done.”
One behind the other, they crawled through the narrow tunnel that they had cut into the underbrush—found the trail.
“Let’s swim across the lake,” Honey suggested; “I’m losing my nerve.”