“But arrah, now, phat arre we goin’ to do about this same broth of a bye comin’ back till the island for frind?” Andy wanted to know just then.
“Sensible of you to ask that, Andy,” remarked Jack, “because it might be possible for us to surprise the pair, if only we could guess about where he meant to land along the shore.”
“Whee! is that what’s on the bill, Jack?” exclaimed Buster, “then how glad I am that you’ve got that splendid little Marlin gun of yours handy. If there’s going to be a scrap, every one of us ought to pick up some sort of club, so’s to make a respectable showing. And right here I see one I’m going to cabbage on the spot.”
“Which spot?” queried Josh; but no one paid the slightest attention to jokes at such a critical moment.
“Listen again, boys,” ordered Jack, “and see if you can tell whether he’s coming down this side of the island, or the other one; because that would mean a whole lot for us.”
For a minute no one uttered a sound. The quick pulsations of the exhaust belonging to the stolen motor boat could be plainly heard, for the night was as still as death, all but that murmur of the breeze among the treetops on the island, and perhaps the gentle lapping of the river on the rocks along the shore.
“I think he’s started down the other side, Jack,” said George.
“Same here,” echoed Josh.
“I don’t seem to be able to guess,” complained Buster, “one time I think it is the other side of the island and then again seems to me he’s heading right back the way he went.”