“The boys are still there,” the surfman said as he halted an instant to peer seaward. “I reckon they’re right comfortable, though, for the surf doesn’t break over them very badly, and it will soon be possible to give them a line.”
“Where is Mr. Downey and the others?” Benny asked, gazing around but without seeing any sign of life upon the shore.
Sam Hardy stopped only sufficiently long to assure himself they were not in the vicinity, and then replied in a tone of conviction:
“Gone back to the station for the beach-wagon.”
“Perhaps they never got ashore,” Benny added in a whisper of awe.
“Don’t get such an idea as that in your head, lad. I’d answer for it every one didn’t go under, an’ the fact that there are none here is proof each man answered to his name.”
“What do you suppose they thought had become of us?”
“We didn’t cut any figger in their thoughts, lad. Most likely Downey knew I jumped aboard the life-boat, an’ after that he counted us out when reckonin’ how many was in need of help. We’ll push on, for it’ll be a hard tug gettin’ that cart over these rocks with only half a crew.”
“Are the other lighters adrift?” Benny asked as he followed his comrade at a smart pace.
“Ay, lad, an’ as near as I can make out, two of them are afoul of the steamer. There’ll be a pretty mess there when the sun rises, an’ we’ll be hauled over the coals for it; but I’ll thank anybody to tell me how we could have done more than we did.”