They quartered the expanse of red slime. It was a sort of Tom Tiddler's ground, littered with European goods. They worked quickly, racing the sun. From time to time there came hails of "The tool-chest's gone. Here's the lid." "Your small stores won't be much good, the soap's melted or something." "Look at what these brutes have done to the sugar."
Presently Lionel hailed.
"I say. I say. Have you come across any drugs?"
"No. Only the lid of a drugs box."
"Well. It's getting serious. There's no other box here. We must go on back to camp and find out if they are there."
"We shall be done, without drugs," said Roger.
"Don't talk about it, my dear man," said Lionel. "Don't talk about it."
"It would be worth while making a raft," said Roger. "There are a couple of axes in camp. If we worked hard all morning, we could get a sort of a raft built. We could use the tent-ropes for lashings. Then we could easily rig up a sail. We should catch them up by dusk, perhaps."
"There are points about the raft theory," said Lionel, as they set out for camp. "But there are so many creeks and gullies where they could hide, and then there are the crocks."
"We could build a sort of bulwark of boxes."