“Because,” Nicky explained, “the chopped places are all on the outside part, nearest the gully—it isn’t really a boat channel, it’s only a gully.”
“Well, that doesn’t help us any,” Tom was still dejected and the more so because of his slightly injured foot. “I move we give up.”
But Nicky had climbed up onto the low, small islet, and, his body sprawled over the rooted, matted growth, was poking and probing.
“Yes,” he said, after a moment, “I guess we might as well. If there is any treasure, it’s too well hidden to discover. I say we might as well wade back to the boat and get some lunch.”
“Then we had better find our way out before dark—it took all morning to get in here,” Cliff suggested. Nicky, as nearly erect as the small, tough roots under foot would make it safe to be, began to push and work his way straight across the islet. Only his head and shoulders appeared above the low, young growths.
“I hate to give up,” he said, as his comrades started to pick their way back along the bed of the reef. “This island may not have been here at all when the—” His words ceased. There came a crackling and rending of wood. Nicky cried out!
Cliff, turning, saw Nicky disappearing!
Forgetting his ankle, with a cry, Tom, who also swung about, scrambled and plunged toward Nicky.
The latter was almost out of sight, near the edge of the islet, prevented from going lower by two roots, over which he had with quick presence of mind flung his arms.
“I—I fell—through!” he gasped as his chums made their way to the edge of the islet. “It’s a hole under the roots! Be careful, fellows, don’t slip or break through; the coral may be thin over it. It may spread further around than you think!”