The two men followed the direction of the horny hand—and saw! Roy Morton felt a sick dizziness crash upon him. In that moment of agony, he believed that the girl he loved was forever lost.
CHAPTER XVIII
The Call of the Dark
A few handfuls of sea water dashed into Roy's face by Ichabod, together with a rough massage by Van Dusen, soon brought the young man around again.
"I must have the truth," he declared, "no matter how terrible. Was the young woman lost?"
"Why, no, young man," the fisherman answered; "least-wise, not in the wreck. I took her out o' the water myself. She was plumb full o' swallered brine, but I had that out o' her in a jiffy. I took her into my shack an' got her all right exceptin' her haid. Poor thing never did speak to me but once."
"Then she died!" Roy cried, in a tone of anguish.
But Ichabod shook his head emphatically.
"Not as I knows on," he declared; "unless that nervous-actin' skunk has killed her since he took her away in the small boat. Had I knowed what I l'arned yesterday at the wireless station, I'd 'a' held on to the gal. I saw she was pretty bad, not bein' able to talk, an' so I told the man I took off o' the wreck that what she needed was an M.D. Leavin' him in charge, fer he seemed to know a heap about medicine himself, I put the rag on the skiff, an' sailed to town for the Doctor. When I got back, I found that the thievin' rascal had stole my pet rooster, a pair o' blankets—an' the woman, an' had gone off in the gasoline tender what come ashore from the wreck. O' course, they went up the Sound—to God knows whar! The woman ain't safe with no sich critter as that feller. If the gal is much to you, which I 'lows she is from your tantrums, ye had best make all haste to git her. I was jest a-fixin' to go to Beaufort an' take out a warrant fer the feller fer murder, an' charter a gasoline boat, prepared to go through hell if need be to save that gal an' put the sallow-skinned varmint, what took her, behind the bars o' the county jail."