To his dismay it was far from light inside. He could just make out objects dimly. There might be a prostrate figure on some of the dirty blankets strewing the ground, for all he could say.
Determined to make sure, he immediately darted inside the tent. A chorus of excited exclamations arose from the half circle of roughs outside.
“He’s a-goin’ ter steal our blankets, that’s what!” shouted one.
“Don’t let him, fellers!” whooped Pet, dancing from one bare foot to the other in his excitement, but not offering to lend a hand in corralling the intruder.
“Hey, you, wot yer want in there?” howled another, looking around for a cudgel that might come in handy.
Then Frank emerged. He still kept his handy gun in evidence, seeing which the others backed away again, not being quite so eager as they imagined to come to hand-grips with this determined boy.
Frank was disappointed. He had failed to find the slightest trace of his missing chum in the tent of the Peters crowd. This seemed to prove that they knew nothing about the kidnapping of Jerry.
Under the circumstances he thought it might be just as well to explain his queer move a little. The knowledge might hasten the departure of these rowdy fellows, and purge the island of their presence.
“I’ll tell you what I was looking for. One of my chums has strangely disappeared, and we thought that perhaps you had him here. That’s all. But I find you haven’t; which makes me believe he’s fallen into the hands of that wild man, or else the two hobo thieves who robbed the man on the steamboat; because we happen to know they’re here on this island.”
“Wot’s that?” demanded Pet, anxiously.