Andy was steering. His father, who had given him the course, was below preparing a meal.
The wind held steadily all the forenoon, and by eleven o'clock the summit of McKay's Island had dipped beneath the horizon. It was not without feelings of regret that Andy saw it disappear. He, too, realised that they were embarked upon a hazardous mission, and that possibly great sacrifice would have to be made ere they returned to their island home.
At midday the wind died away to a flat calm, the yawl rolling sluggishly in the oily swell, with her boom swaying violently from side to side, and threatening dire disaster to the heads of any of the crew that incautiously came within its reach.
The canoe, similarly situated, did not hesitate to lower the sail, and paddle close alongside.
"This is a bit rotten, cap'n," shouted Blight. "Shall I give you a tow?"
"No thanks, don't trouble about us," replied Mr. McKay. "You can paddle on ahead, and we'll follow when the breeze springs up. If we can't fetch Ni Atong before dark you might get those fellows to light a fire on the beach, so that we can come up to the anchorage."
"Righto, boss! Ta-ta!"
There was a peculiar glint in the man's eye. He fancied that the superior speed of the canoe under paddles was an asset in his favour for the events he had already planned.
The chief gave the word, the blades dipped, and, gathering way, the canoe soon gained a rapid pace. The long-drawn song of the paddlers gradually died away as the distance increased, and an hour later the canoe was lost to sight.
"Now, Andy, we'll start the motor, and creep up within a couple of miles of Ni Atong. They will think we have picked up a breeze."