“That’s the trouble,” said Cliff, “how?”
“It’s no use,” called Tom, who had moved a little beyond his two companions, at the side of the tiny islet. “Some one has been here already!”
They moved up to his position and observed with dejected eyes the signs of a previous visit by others; roots were chopped in half; the signs were very fresh. At one place, very close to the edge of the small, root-matted surface, a hole had been chopped completely through the mass. Further into the brush there were signs of another such spot.
“That settles it,” Cliff grumbled. “Some one has beaten us.”
“Look out, Cliff,” cried Nicky, just behind his friend. “Don’t step back. Here’s another channel—right at the bottom of the Dipper part—it runs along what is the bottom, between the islands.”
“It’s only a hole, maybe——”
“No, it’s a channel,” persisted Nicky. “See—yonder, the color of the water looks different from the shoals. It runs——”
“It only goes to the lower island,” declared Tom, studying the water, and gently lowering himself, testing till his foot found the bottom. “It’s only about three feet deep, and—” he waded carefully away, and then returned. “It stops just by the other island, the South one. But there’s another channel beyond a reef there.”
“Then whoever came here didn’t use a boat,” Nicky suggested. “My guess is that those men waded up to here yesterday, and dug or chopped until they were sure they couldn’t find anything.”
“How do you know they didn’t come from where our boat is?”