“Clouding up. Looks like storm,” said Pant suddenly.
“Hope it doesn’t bring those black boys back to us,” said Johnny, wrinkling his brow.
Before Johnny went to sleep he thought in some wonder of one experience of that day, of the burning of the native canoe. He could not help but connect that up with other incidents: the white fire in the factory and the burning of the automobile in the desert. Had Pant been at the bottom of all these things? If he had been, what strange new power did he possess?
After that he thought for a time of their own problems. Would they ever return to the factory to report the complete success of the new steel and of the dust-burning engines? And would he ever analyze the contents of that vial in the factory laboratory? Of one thing he was certain, and he smiled grimly as he thought of it: they were not likely to be bothered by their ancient enemy, the contortionist, on this desert island.
It was night, a night of storm. The wind had come sweeping in from the sea, bringing rain and rolling waves. It was not a typhoon, but a straight-on nor’wester of great violence. By the aid of an improvised capstan, the two boys had dragged the “Dust Eater” high up on the beach, and, with ropes and wooden stakes had guyed her there.
The storm was now at its height. The wind set the dark clumps of palms swishing and moaning in a dismal fashion. Great sheets of rain beat against Johnny’s face as, wrapped to the chin in a slicker, he went from the cabin close to the cliff where they had taken refuge, down to the beach, to make sure that the guys to the plane were holding firm.
When he had assured himself that all was well, he paused for a moment to gaze out to sea. He was half afraid that the two native boats had not reached their harbor before the storm broke.
“Keeping them off this island is one thing, driving them into the teeth of a storm another; wouldn’t want to be responsible for their deaths,” he mumbled. Then he started.
There had come a lull in the storm. The rain had ceased. It seemed to him that, as he strained his eyes to gaze seaward, he made out a light. Now appearing, now disappearing, it seemed to be upon some craft bobbing up and down with the waves that were rolling high.