“Look!” exclaimed Cliff, from the bow, “back water, fellows! And look ahead. I believe we’ve found it!” Tom and Nicky swung on the seat and stared over their shoulders. Hard as it was to be sure, because other islands, a little closer or further away complicated the general pattern, they felt that, at last, they saw the Dipper.
“But there’s an island almost in line with two of the lower ones that wasn’t on the map,” objected Tom.
“That’s so,” said Cliff, ruefully.
“Anyway, here’s a good channel, and we’re going South again—back toward where we started,” Nicky argued. “Let’s——”
“Back water! Back water!” ordered Cliff. But they had given a swift impetus to the small craft as Nicky and Tom bent to the oars and with a dull grating sound the bow up-ended a little, as it ran onto a shelf of the bedrock limestone, into which the coral formed itself.
Tom and Nicky narrowly escaped toppling over backward and Cliff saved himself from a plunge onto the shoal only by gripping the thwart with both hands as the boat stopped sharply.
“Well—here we are!” said Nicky, settling himself. “Come aft, Cliff, so we can lighten her bow and maybe we can pole off and back out—it’s too narrow a channel to turn around in!”
Cliff stood up to do as his chum counseled; but he remained standing, his eyes fixed, his body becoming tense.
“What’s the matter?” cried Nicky. “See anything?” asked Tom.
Cliff lifted a hand, pointing dramatically.