Jones turned and looked inquiringly at Ensign Stowell, but the latter shook his head.
“Wait,” he said softly.
CHAPTER IV
A BATTLE UNDERGROUND
Five minutes passed; ten. The Wanderer was out of sight now beyond the trees. Ensign Stowell beckoned and his little command drew closer.
“We want those chaps,” he said in low tones. “They’ve got a hiding place of some sort over there; probably a hut. There are six of us. Have you all got watches?”
Everyone nodded.
“Good. I’ll go around to the further side, Jones will take the next post on the west, then Endicott. You stay here, Masters. Staples you will cut around to the east and Troy will go half-way. Five minutes by your watches from the time I start off you will all close in. Don’t fire a shot until I give the word unless you are fired on. Then shoot to stop your man but not kill him. Make as little noise as you can, watch for your friends and don’t mistake them for the men we’re after. Get it, all of you? All right. Look at your watches.”
The ensign rose and started eastward around the edge of the straggling grove. Jones followed, and Staples. After a minute or so Endicott and Nelson quietly went their separate ways, leaving a somewhat anxious looking youth behind in the shape of Billy Masters. Nelson kept to the sand so that his feet would tread on no crackling twigs, and, when he had traversed what he believed to be the proper distance, knelt and looked at the watch on the leather strap about his wrist. He had still two and a half minutes to wait. From his place he could see the Wanderer again. She was swinging westward now, perhaps two miles away, but one who didn’t know would never have suspected her of interest in this forlorn stretch of reef and sand. Nelson thought he could make out a moving figure on her forecastle deck and wondered if it was Cochran impatiently awaiting a chance to ram a cartridge into that bow gun. Save for the roar of the waves and the plaintive cries of the gulls everything was still. The seconds ticked themselves slowly away. A minute more now to wait. A half minute—fifteen seconds—ten—five——
He arose, revolver in hand, and stepped forward into the gloom of the pines. In spite of his care a twig snapped occasionally under his feet as, dodging queer, misshapen branches, he went on toward the center of the wood. The sand was soft and mixed with pine needles and clothed here and there with sad-looking vines already showing new leaves. The trees were more scattered than he had thought, and were twisted strangely by the force of the gales. After a minute he caught sight of something moving ahead of him and, with a leap of his heart, swung his automatic up. But it was Endicott. A second rustling brought Masters to view. Converging, they kept on. One by one the other members of the landing party drew near, Staples last of all. The ensign was clearly nonplused. He looked enquiringly from face to face. Each man shook his head. They stood in silence for a minute. The sound of the surf was strangely hushed here in the center of the little wood. Nelson could hear his watch tick. The ensign was looking toward the tops of the small trees, pivoting slowly on his heel. Jones was doing the same. Nelson, suspecting an airplane, looked, too, but saw nothing except the gray sky through the loose branches. The ensign raised a hand warningly and stepped a dozen paces to the eastward and repeated his queer survey, and then to the north. The others watched and waited in silence.