“Remember what the teacher said, last term, about being afraid?” Nicky reminded Tom. “He said that when we became afraid we deadened our common sense and made pictures of dangers that wouldn’t exist at all unless we thought they did. He said it wasn’t what was dangerous that hurts us, but what we thought might happen. So—Tom—snap out of it!” He spoke rather curtly and slangily, to impress Tom the more quickly. Tom saw the sense in the rebuke and reminder and grinned sheepishly.
Meanwhile, a hand on the stern thwart, Cliff was thrusting with his feet, swimming, and pushing the boat ahead at a slow rate.
They finally reached the distant island and found the oars.
“Had we better stay here till daylight?” questioned Cliff.
“No,” Nicky declared. “They have our gold, and they mustn’t get away. They have a heavy load and they may get stuck in the channel for their greediness. We can see the papers they stuck on sticks to mark the channel. Let’s get on as far as we can.”
Tom agreed with him, not especially caring to stay amid the spooky, silent islets all night.
They had hard work in the swiftly closing darkness, hut by using their eyes sharply and by going ahead slowly, as their escaping enemies must also do, they finally saw clear water ahead.
“Hooray!” cried Nicky. “I think I see them still in the rowboat! Pull hard, Cliff and Tom, we can get there before they get away!”
But as he said it there came a hail, sharp and eager from the shore of the island at the mouth of the channel.
Tom and Cliff held their oars, surprised, listening.
“Somebody’s on that island!” Nicky declared. Mechanically responding to a call for aid, Tom and Cliff swung the tender’s nose toward the island. Their way took them very close.
“Boys—Master Cliff—Master Tom—Master Nicky! It’s Sam!”
The figure they could discern against the trees waved its arms.
“Quick, pull in close,” cried the tall figure, wading into the water to meet them. “My boat’s gone. Take me in. We can git to the other boat before they get away! Hurry, please, sars!”
It was only an instant before he had caught the approaching gunwale and was tumbling in. “Now,” he cried, “give way, sars!”
“Sam!” cried Nicky, at the bow, pumping the black hand. “I never was so glad to see anybody in my life. Grab those oars! We’ll get them yet!”