CHAPTER XIX
Mr. Stobell was the first to emerge, and, seizing the canvas, dragged it
free of the writhing bodies of his companions. Mr. Chalk gained his feet
and, catching sight of some dim figures standing a few yards away on the
beach, gave a frantic shout and plunged into the interior, followed by
the others. A shower of pieces of coral whizzing by their heads and
another terrible yell accelerated their flight.
Mr. Chalk gained the farther beach unmolested and, half crazy with fear,
ran along blindly. Footsteps, which he hoped were those of his friends,
pounded away behind him, and presently Stobell, panting heavily, called
to him to stop. Mr. Chalk, looking over his shoulder, slackened his pace
and allowed him to overtake him.
"Wait--for--Tredgold," said Stobell, breathlessly, as he laid a heavy
hand on his shoulder.
Mr. Chalk struggled to free himself. "Where is he?" He gasped.
Stobell, still holding him, stood trying to regain his breath. "They--
they must--have got him," he said, at last. "Have you got any of your
pistols on you?"
"You threw them all away," quavered Mr. Chalk. "I've only got a knife."
He fumbled with trembling fingers at his belt; Stobell brushing his hand
aside drew a sailor's knife from its sheath, and started to run back in
the direction of the tent.
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