Below them, on all sides, washing the rocky shores of the island were the heaving waters of the great bay. They could take in most of the shore line, irregular and indented as it was, but, look as they did, there was no sign of life.
They saw no curling smoke from a campfire. They saw no figure of a man—the man whom they had so fruitlessly pursued. Nor was there any vestige of a big motor boat half-burned.
"Well, nothing doing so far," remarked Frank, after a pause. "Now we'll go down and begin a circuit of the shore and see what is in some of the caves."
Slipping and sliding over the loose stones and gravel, they reached the bottom of the slope near where they had drawn up their boat. The sight of this craft gave Frank an idea.
"Suppose while we're on one side of the island that man—or someone—should happen to come along?" he suggested. "He'd make off with our boat, sure."
"Probably," agreed Andy. "But we can prevent that."
"How?"
"By hiding the oars. We'll shove 'em under some bushes quite a distance back, so they can't be found."
Frank agreed that this was a good idea, and though there was a chance that someone might land in a motor boat and tow off their rowing craft, still they had to take that risk.
Then began a systematic search of the island. They went along the shore, and looked into many small caves. The interior of these was dark, but they had each provided a pocket portable electric flash lamp, so that they were able to illuminate the caverns.