CHAPTER XIII.
IN TROUBLE.
Not until Mr. Jenkins examined the beach in every direction for a distance of ten or fifteen yards from where they came out of the thicket, would he be convinced that the tender had been stolen.
Then, when he saw the imprints of bare feet, showing that the thieves had carried the little craft thirty or forty feet toward the eastward before launching her, and even found the spot where her bow had rested on the sand, probably while the negroes got on board, he was almost beside himself with rage.
“I ought to be kicked every hour in the day until we get home again,” he said, angrily. “Anybody, except a fool like me, would have had sense enough, when those fellows left the fire, to realize that the boat might be in danger; but I never gave her a thought.”
“Neither did Nelse nor I,” Gil added, “consequently we rank quite as high in the fool scale. There’s no way out of it, but admit to father that we allowed the tender to be stolen, and try to look pleasant when he makes sport of us.”
“I wish we were where we could tell him,” the mate said, half to himself.
“That can be easily arranged. It will only be necessary to discharge the revolvers three or four times, and I guarantee father will send some one ashore to learn if there is any trouble.”
“I don’t think it would be just safe to do that. The crowd we saw back there would most likely prove to be ugly customers, if they had any idea we saw their capers, and it might not be pleasant to bring them down upon us by reports of the weapons.”
“Do you believe they are voudoos?” Nelse asked, in a voice which was not remarkable for its steadiness.
“There can be no question about it.”