When the necessary arrangements had finally been made, Andy darted through the underbrush at such speed that the others were obliged to exert themselves to the utmost in order to keep pace with him, and the heat rendered rapid traveling both painful and exhausting.
“Let him go ahead,” Jenkins said, impatiently, after five minutes passed, during which the whole party had been running rather than walking. “He’s worse than an old woman when he gets frightened, an’ we couldn’t move faster than we’re doin’ now if the whole crowd were at our heels.”
“There’s no reason why we shouldn’t take our time,” and Gil halted for a comfortable breath. “It will be better to start after dark, anyway, for no one could row very long in this heat.”
Having thus allayed their own nervousness, the little party proceeded toward the beach in a most leisurely fashion, until the sound of the surf told that they were very near the sea, when Andy burst through the underbrush at a faster gait than he had departed.
His black face was of an ashen hue, and his eyes open and staring as he said, in a hoarse whisper:
“De boat’s dun gone!”
“What do you mean, you fool?” the mate asked, angrily.
“She’s gone, an’ dat’s a fac’. Dem ole debbils knowed wha’ we was er tryin’ ter do, an’ dey’ve hoodooed her outer sight!”
“Probably you didn’t go within half-a-mile of where we left her.”
“Dere’s de tree we hitched her to, an’ you kin see whar dem as took her off walked ’roun’ huntin’ for us.”