No shot came, and in time he came to a comparatively level spot of sand in the center of which there glowed a few coals.
After bending over these for an instant he scraped away the last remaining sparks with his bit of gas pipe, then stood there silently waiting for the thing to cool.
“What was it?” Ben asked as he came up.
“Don’t know.”
Johnny drew a flashlight from his pocket and threw its circle of light on the spot.
“Listen!” whispered Ben, pulling at Johnny’s coat sleeve and pointing toward the lagoon. Faintly, yet quite distinctly, Johnny heard the creak of oar locks.
“A boat,” he whispered back.
“Yes, Johnny, they was somebody out here. And I bet you it was—that man!”
“The limping man?”
“Yes.”