'There are the boats,' said Roy. 'Three, four—yes, half a dozen of them. Now we shan't be long.' 'They're great clumsy brutes of things,' Ken answered. Hang it all! There isn't one we can manage between us.'
'Wait. There's a smaller one beyond. That might do us.' muttered Roy, hurrying forward.
Ken followed quickly. As Roy had said, this boat which lay by itself was decidedly smaller than the others. It had, however, been pulled clear of the water.
'Good, she's got a pair of oars,' said Roy. 'Give us a hand to launch her, Ken.'
She was a considerable weight, and the shingle was deep and soft. There is no tide in these waters, so the beaches are dry like those of a lake. In spite of their best efforts, it took them some little time to get her afloat.
They had only just succeeded and Ken was scrambling aboard, when rapid steps came hurrying down the beach.
'Halt!' came a sharp voice speaking in Turkish. 'Who goes there?'
[CHAPTER XIII]
THE SWEEPERS
'Hurry!' hissed Roy.
'No use,' was the low-voiced answer. 'He'd get us both before we were out of range.' As he spoke, Ken turned and stepped swiftly back to the beach.