CHAPTER XIX
"Our Luck's Out"
"That's done it!" ejaculated O'Hara.
"Perhaps," admitted Denbigh. "We'll have some grub and discuss the situation. It's good to sniff the open sea, after being cooped up in that pestilential river. That's one consolation."
The three chums ate sparingly, supplementing the provisions with the milk of a coco-nut. The soda-water was by common consent kept intact.
As soon as the sun's rays acquired strength Denbigh washed his mud-encrusted clothes in the sea and spread them out to dry.
"What's the programme?" asked Armstrong. "If we hang about here we stand a chance of getting nabbed. Our flight will have been discovered by this time, and they'll naturally conclude that we've made off towards the mouth of the river."
"Unless they conclude, from finding the punt jammed alongside the pier, that we've been slung out and drowned," rejoined Denbigh. "But we'll take no needless chances. We'll go north. Once we pass the clearing where the native village stands the coast ought to be fairly clear, and we can still command a view of the entrance to the lagoon."
Without incident the three officers made their way for nearly three miles along the coast. By this time the intense heat was making itself felt, and at O'Hara's suggestion they retreated to the cool of the forest, taking turns at keeping watch.