They made a good pile of them, keeping together, Cliff with the rifle always at his elbow.
“It’s watch-and-watch,” he said when they sat down to stare at the leaping flare of their fire, keeping quite close to its cheering blaze, “Nicky watches until nine, then Tom, then I will watch—two hours for each, unless we all have to wake up.”
Thus, as the day’s quiet gave place to the growing bedlam of the darkness, with hoots and wails, the strident sounds made by night insects making an undertone to the occasional weird voice of a wild beast, the three adventurous youths made the best of a bad situation and sat, supperless, by the one bright spot of safety in that wild place.
The jungle had opened its arms and had folded them upon its prey.
CHAPTER XIX
WASTED EFFORT
When all attempts to persuade the chief to listen had resulted in a final, and rather angry order for them to go, Bill and Jack gave up.
“It’s no use,” Bill said. “We are stumped. Let’s go to the dock and meet Bob—he ought to be back with the boat pretty soon.”
They went to the ramshackle wharf made of old, rotting poles stuck into the water, with old boards, from some wreckage, loosely laid on them for a footpath. The dock was seldom used—only for the few occasions when government launches came to the island to transact business with the chief.
But after a long wait, when Bob failed to show up, Bill became uneasy and finally hailed the cruiser by firing his pistol three times.
The boat was too far away for voices to carry, and also signs could not be distinguished.