When at last he caught up with the agile old man, Samatan was standing motionless, looking off at the sea. For a full minute, lips parted, eyes staring, they stood there in silence.
For—stealing up on them like an enemy in the night, a terrific storm was racing in from the sea. It took but one word from Samatan’s lips to complete the terror of the prospect.
“Hurricane!” he said, gutterally.
“We must run for the boat!” Johnny sprang down from the rock.
“Not go now. Too late!” Samatan did not move. Instead, he stood looking along the ridge, first this way, then that.
“The Sea Nymph!” Johnny broke out again. “She will be lost!”
“Not get lost,” Samatan said, slowly. “Good crew. Harbor not far.” Once again his eyes swept the ridge.
“Come,” he said at last. “This way. We go fast.” Even as he spoke, a gust of wind sweeping in from the sea, all but threw the boy off his rocky perch.
For ten minutes or more the two of them fought their way along the ridge. At last the native paused. “Here,” he said, “is most high. Trees. Must climb these—quick! Waves go all over coral reef!”
“Al—all right.” The rising gale blew Johnny’s words down his throat. Seizing the low branches of a large tree, he prepared to climb.