“Here’s a bit of bamboo that looks as if it had been cut with a knife,” said Pant.
“Might have drifted in,” suggested Johnny. Other than this they found no sign of life.
After a brief consultation they decided that, simply as a matter of precaution, they should make the rounds of the shore before settling down to sleep.
Night would be coming on in an hour, so, after partaking of a hasty repast, the two boys, armed with the rifles, struck up the beach to the right. The Professor was left to keep an eye on the plane.
Nothing eventful happened until the boys had made three-fourths of their journey. As they had expected, they had found no sign of human life on the island. Night was falling; the sea was growing calm after the storm; they were looking forward to a few hours of refreshing sleep when, of a sudden, as they rounded a clump of palms, Johnny sprang backward, and, clutching his companion’s arm, dragged him into the deeper shadows.
“Wha—what is it?” stammered Pant.
“A camp fire on the beach, and men, six or eight of them, I think, sitting about it. Natives, I should judge.”
For a time the boys stood there in silence. It was a tense moment. Each in his own way was trying to solve the problem that had suddenly thrust itself upon them. Should they show themselves to the natives, or should they try to discover some way to escape from the islands?
“I don’t think,” said Pant, as if talking to himself, “that we can get off the island without their aid.”
“A ship might appear,” suggested Johnny.