“Sam and the Shark ought to be coming back,” Poke said nervously. “I—I—what in the world do you suppose is keeping them?”
“Don’t know,” Orkney said shortly. “Course, they can swim for it—if they have to. But what they’re up to——”
Step didn’t wait to hear the end of the sentence, but caught up his oar.
“Let’s meet ’em half-way.”
“Good scheme!” cried Poke, and dropped back on his thwart. “You steer, Orkney,” he added. “The others can keep the sharpest kind of a lookout.”
With the punt dragging behind, the boat’s pace was very moderate. Slow as it was, however, the voyagers cruised for perhaps half a mile without gaining clew to the whereabouts of their missing friends. By this time they had passed the limits of the fire.
Orkney’s face was very grave, indeed, as he guided the boat through a half-circle, and the return trip was begun. The light was strengthening; for now some of the trees overhanging the water were ablaze.
“Keep your eyes peeled for swimmers!” he called to Herman and the Trojan.
They nodded, but said nothing; and the boat moved slowly on. Step and Poke were willing but not finished oarsmen; they splashed water recklessly. The crackling flames were distinctly audible. For a little these were the only sounds on lake or land. Then, of a sudden, there was a shout from both lookouts, which seemed to be echoed from the shore.
Orkney swung the boat’s head; the Trojan was pointing eagerly at figures showing clearly on a sand spit, behind which brush was blazing like a great torch.