“A dory! Our dory from the other boat. Reinforcements!” Hope arose.
His hand touched something hard.
“A bag of chicle,” he thought. “Supposing it was the bag of the green thread.”
The thing was buoyant. Dragging himself upon it, he took time to look about him. A light flared here, then went out. A torch flamed, shot upward, circled down, hissed in the water and went out. The circle of a flashlight revealed four men in deadly embrace.
“Got to get back. They need me.” Having found the direction of the boat, he swam quickly to it. There, having made his way cautiously about it, and coming into contact with a dugout that most certainly was not their own, he capsized and sunk it.
A little further on his hand gripped a rope. A moment later he was aboard the schooner again.
Suddenly a bright light streamed out. Some one had lighted a gas lantern and hung it high on the mast.
“That will end it,” he thought.
It did, for him. An iron belaying pin, hurled square at him, took him in the temple. After that, for several hours, he knew no more.