"That's what we have to do. Ready, Bluff?" cried Frank, snatching up his own double-barreled shotgun.
"Where do I come in?" demanded Will as they slid overboard.
"You're the goalkeeper this time. Hold the ship, with Joe, here, till we get back."
"And they've taken all the guns along," grumbled Will as he watched his two chums making their splashing way in the direction of the shore.
Happening to bethink himself of the old revolver on board, Will presently armed himself with the same, and tried to imagine that he presented an imposing appearance as the guardian of the motor-boat. Truth to tell, he would have really been far more dangerous handling his favorite camera, for he did not have it in him to harm a flea, if he could help it.
Meanwhile, Frank and his comrade were pushing for the shore as rapidly as the conditions allowed. By exercising a certain amount of discretion they were able to follow up one of the oyster reefs that thrust out from the bank like the fingers of a human hand.
"We'll make it all right," declared Bluff presently.
"Yes, and without getting in deeper than half way up. But I'm wondering why we don't hear anything more from Jerry. He had six charges in his rifle, you know."
From Frank's tone it was easy to understand that he was worried.
"Say, perhaps that was meant for a signal," suggested Bluff suddenly.