He stood near the entrance watching until the men had entered the cave at the end of the passage, and then he ran toward the entrance.
Before he had taken twenty steps, a blow from a club brought him to his knees, showing that sentinels were on the alert, and he crawled back, dazed and bleeding from an ugly cut on the head.
The boys had not followed; but they understood from the noise what had happened, and, aiding their companion to enter the underground prison, seated themselves beside him.
“What a fool I was to fancy we were left unguarded,” the mate said, as he felt the warm blood trickling down his face. “Strike a light, Gil, and see what condition my head is in.”
Fortunately, the boys had a small supply of wax matches, and one of these burned long enough to examine the wound.
A single glance was sufficient to show that it was not serious, although it would probably cause considerable pain, and Nelse tied his handkerchief around it to stay the flow of blood.
“I hope we shall have a chance to dress it better before twenty-four hours have passed,” Gil said, with a vain attempt to speak cheerfully. “Father will surely come on shore in search of us when the sun rises, and he should be able to follow such a broad trail as we must have left in coming here.”
“Your father is at sea by this time,” Mr. Jenkins replied, almost sharply. “Didn’t you notice that the wind was blowing half a gale before we arrived here? To save the yacht, he had to get up anchor, and it may be a week before he can get back.”