"No one in sight," she muttered, beckoning the others to advance.
"But what gets me is where the other two are," growled Pete who, with Jake, was carrying Betty. "There's four of 'em, and they've always been together ever since they come down here. Where are the other two? That's what I'd like to know."
Betty shuddered as she thought of Mollie and Grace sleeping in the little clump of trees. Suppose these horrid men should go back there and find them. It was horrible to contemplate.
"Well, you've got half of 'em. That ought to be enough for what you want," said Jake, hoarsely chuckling.
Betty was puzzling her brains, trying to think why she and Amy had been thus captured. What object had the old fisherman and, too, why had the old crone been so eager to get them to her hut? Betty could only guess. Her head ached. She felt really ill, and could not doubt but that poor Amy was in like condition.
A few seconds later they were both carried into the hut, and set in rickety chairs. Their bonds were not removed, and the door was closed and locked. Amy looked over at Betty, and the latter could see that her chum's eyes were filled with tears.
Then, suddenly, Amy seemed to collapse. She slipped from the chair to the floor.
"Now what's up?" roughly demanded Pete. "I wish I'd never gone into this girl business, anyhow—it's so uncertain. What's happened?" and he looked at the limp form of Amy on the floor.
Betty tried to rise, but sank back dizzily. The room seemed to become suddenly dark. She feared she would topple over as Amy had done.
"It's only a faint, the poor dear," chuckled the old woman. "I'll attend to her. You go out and get the boat ready," she told the two men.