They lost no time carrying it out. Tossing a good deal of dunnage out of cupboards, to simulate the result of a hurried search for liquor or evidence, and dropping the rifles overboard where they showed on the clear bed of coral, as they supposed the officers would do, the chums, carefully making certain by shinning up the short mast that no boat was within immediate range, leaped over the side.
The deeper channel was not wide; they made for an island on the far side, and there, wading up through the ooze covered bed-stone, they got on fairly firm ground and selected good spots in which to lie in case of need for hiding.
Then, by turns, they took up a watch toward the Gulf, alternating with a look once in a while toward the channel and the wrecked boat.
But for some reason the hi-jackers did not return. All day the chums watched, but without result.
“They must have decided that we went away, or they are afraid that a rowboat might be cruising among the islets,” Cliff said. “I wish we had brought something to eat!”
“I thought of it,” Tom said, “but I guessed that they would come back before night and then leave us alone. And no cutter has shown itself. Well—shall we swim back before dark?”
“No,” counseled Cliff, “let’s wait. They may come back after dark.”
Night closed down clear and with the stars very bright it was possible to watch easily. And, about eight o’clock, Tom, on guard, whispered to attract his comrades. They all made out the tender creeping quietly toward the careening hulk across the channel from them.
“If only we could get their boat—” Cliff mused.
“Well, maybe we can!” exclaimed Nicky. “Let’s swim back closer and see what we can see!”