Although she could as yet see no one on the island, voices floated out across the water.
“We heerd yer signal, Hod,” a man said, “but we hain’t seen no one.”
“A boat musta come through, or Maw wouldn’t heve beat the pan.”
“Whoever ’twas, they probably went off somewheres else,” the other man replied. “Glad yer here anyhow, Hod. We got a lot o’ work to do and ye can help us.”
Hod’s reply was inaudible, for obviously the men were moving away into the interior of the island.
“Thet was old Ezekiel talkin’ to his son,” the Widow Jones declared, although Penny already had guessed as much. “They’ve gone off somewheres, so if we’re a mind to land, now’s our only chance.”
Penny gazed at her companion in surprise and admiration.
“You’re not afraid?” she inquired softly.
“Maybe I am,” the Widow Jones admitted. “But that hain’t no excuse fer me turnin’ tail! This here’s a free country ain’t it?”
She poled the skiff around the point to a thick clump of bushes. There she pulled up, and with Penny’s help made the skiff secure to a tree root hidden from sight by overhanging branches.