With that the rower gave another glance shoreward over his shoulder, spat on his hands, and began pulling his hardest.
The dinghy rode the breaking swell in capital style until her forefoot touched the beach. Smartly the two men sprang out, knee deep in water, but they were not quick enough. Before they could haul the dinghy clear of the waves a sea poured over her quarter.
"Scouts to the rescue!" shouted Rivett.
There was no hanging back. Simultaneously the lads swung themselves over the shelving cliff, dropping or sliding from ledge to ledge; then, gaining the beach, they ran at top speed to the assistance of the two strangers.
The Scouts were hardly prepared for what happened next. The two men, after gazing dumbfoundedly for a few seconds at the apparition of seven active youngsters racing towards them, suddenly took to their heels and fled.
Checking his first impulse to follow in pursuit of the two men, Rusty Rivett halted his charges. Though the running figures appealed to the Scout's instincts much in the same way as a startled hare does to a dog, there was, after all, no justification for the chase, since no reason was apparent why the men should take to their heels.
"Get the boat above high-water mark," ordered the Patrol Leader. "All hands. Never mind getting your shoes wet."
It was a strenuous task, for by this time the dinghy had filled with water to the level of the transom. Watching their opportunity as the waves receded, the lads tilted the boat until she was nearly empty, and then, using the bottom boards to prevent the keel sinking in the soft beach, they eventually hauled their prize clear of the surf.
"What's in the sack, Rusty?" asked Thurgood.
The Patrol Leader hesitated before satisfying his curiosity. It seemed too much like meddling with someone's private property.