Meanwhile Betty had desisted from her struggle to get loose. She was strong and wiry, but the old crone was more than a match for the Little Captain. The fisherman's wife seemed to know how to handle struggling persons, for she held Betty in a peculiar grip that was most effective. Bend and strain as Betty might, she could not break away, and that hand was still held over her mouth, preventing any further outcry.
"Just a minute now, Mag, and I'll have her safe," went on Jake, as, with practiced hands he whipped several coils of cord around Betty's wrists and ankles.
"Stop! Stop!" she implored as the woman's hand was taken from her mouth for a second. It was poor Betty's last chance to appeal, for, an instant later, a fold of ill-smelling cloth was put over her lips, and she was effectually gagged. Tears of shame, rage and fear came into her eyes.
"Now you can carry her, without any trouble," announced Jake, rising.
"Take 'em up to the shack," ordered Pete. "Then tell the others to get the boat ready."
Betty wondered what that meant. Were they to be kidnapped? She tried to look at Amy, but could not see her just then.
A moment later she felt herself being lifted up between the two men. It was useless to struggle.
Amy was much lighter than Betty, and was hoisted up to the shoulder of the old crone, who seemed wonderfully strong.
"Take a look out, Mag, and see if any one's in sight before we make a dash for the shack," directed Pete. "Her screams may have been heard. She yelled like a banshee!"
The fishwife, carrying the limp figure of Amy, peered beyond the line of sand dunes.