“Well, didn’t he? Remember that paper he dropped at our house? He was taking that message to somebody—and it wasn’t to any of those three who got the box—not much!” exclaimed Billy.
“He did his best to keep the place secret from those who shouldn’t know, I reckon,” Dan agreed. “I bet something big depends upon that box.”
“Money in it!” exclaimed Billy, his eyes sparkling.
“Never mind what. Those fellows oughtn’t to have it. Let’s find out where they’ve gone.”
“Oh, I’m with you, if you’re bound to try following them,” agreed Billy. “But not before you’ve had those wrists bound up. I’ve a clean handkerchief in my pocket.”
“Guess your own wrists need a little attention, too,” returned Danny, making a grimace of pain. “And how about Dummy’s legs?”
The kettle, hung on the hook over the open fire, was steaming cheerfully all this time. Dan threw on some more wood, and Billy unhung the kettle and poured some water into a pan. They laved the burns with just as hot water as they could bear, to take the sting out.
Dummy’s trousers were burned in great holes between his ankles and his knees. His legs were merely scorched and blistered, however; his burns were not as deep as Dan’s.
Billy had crawled out of the cave for some snow with which to fill the kettle and reduce the temperature of the water poured into the pan. He reported the snow as blinding and the wind howling in the higher trees like a pack of wolves.
“If those fellows got away from this island, they’ve got pluck—that’s all I got to say,” he grunted.