Back from the shore all seemed lost in slumber. Not a light glimmered, not a camp fire glowed. There was no sound. Even the soaring bats appeared to have gone to rest.
“Wha—where are we?” Doris shivered though the night was not cold.
“Who knows?” In a few words Johnny told all he knew of the night’s curious adventure.
“All we can do,” he said in conclusion, “is to find some sheltered spot where we can hide till morning. Then I’ll have to go out scouting to discover if I can find what island this is and what sort of people live upon it.”
Even as he spoke he was conscious of the fact that he was reading into the present some of the romance and adventure of the West Indies’ colorful past. But for all that their position, two girls and a boy on a strange shore at night, was perilous enough.
Silently, in single file, they crossed the sandy beach to come at last to the edge of the cocoanut grove. There, by following the shore for a short distance, they found a well trodden path leading into the forest.
“We won’t follow that, at least not to-night,” said Johnny. “There are dogs, dangerous native dogs. Natives always have them. And the natives—who knows?”
They continued along the beach until they came to a spot where the land rose quite abruptly up from the sea.
There they found a second trail, little more than a wild animal’s trail to water. The tracks they found there were the sharply cut marks of goats’ hoofs.
“We’ll go up here,” said Johnny leading the way. “We’ll get up high where there are no mosquitoes. There we can rest and think things over.”