Part 17 (1/2)

”Don't talk,” said d.i.c.k. ”I'll be all right presently.”

Whitney waited anxiously, and five minutes later d.i.c.k held out his hand.

”Give me a lift; I'll try to get up.”

He got upon his feet with Whitney's help, but leaned on him heavily for a minute.

”I can move along slowly,” he said; ”there's a way across the point.”

They were some time in crossing the slippery rocks, but at last Whitney helped the lad down to the sand and felt keen satisfaction when they came to the dinghy.

”I'm much better,” d.i.c.k said as Whitney pushed off. ”I must have been half stunned--guess I knocked my head as I fell down the last bit.”

”Is it cut?”

”Don't fuss!” d.i.c.k answered irritably. ”She'll wash back up the beach if you don't pull.”

Whitney occupied himself with the oars; but he felt puzzled. d.i.c.k seemed to have turned dizzy before he fell; and although it was possible that he struck his head, his statement that he had done so looked like an afterthought. It was, however, his business now to find the _Rowan_, and he could see by the way the cliff slid past that the tide was running down. He had to pull hard to get near the island, and the wind was rising, but soon he distinguished a patch of dark canvas, and a few minutes later he ran the dinghy alongside the yacht.

”Lash the helm and come below!” he called to Andrew, after helping d.i.c.k on board.

Andrew stopped to throw a sail over the skylight when Whitney lighted the lamps, and then went down and looked at d.i.c.k, who lay on a locker.

His face was very white, his lips had a blue tint, and the veins showed dark on the back of his colorless hands.

”I think you had better have a drink,” he said, taking out a whisky bottle.

d.i.c.k drained the gla.s.s.

”That's good; I'll soon be all right. I slipped when we were coming down the crag and pitched over the edge of the steep bottom part.”

”He thinks he hit his head,” Whitney added.

Andrew felt d.i.c.k's head in spite of his objections.

”There is a lump, but not large. It doesn't account for the shock you seem to have got.”

”If you had fallen down that rock, I don't suppose you'd feel very fit. But give me a cigarette and ask Jim to tell you what we saw.”

Andrew gave him the cigarette and then looked out the scuttle. A breeze had got up, blowing off the land, and the yacht was drifting seaward with her loose mainsail flapping and her jib aback. She would need no attention; so he closed the hatch and sat down to listen to Whitney's story.

”Do you think they heard d.i.c.k fall?” he asked.

”I can't say. It's possible, though the swell was breaking noisily on the beach.”

”It's a curious affair,” said Andrew. ”I saw the light and was glad I'd kept the boat in the gloom of the island. It certainly looks as if the steamer that put her lights out and the whammel boat that crept in to the land at dusk had some connection with each other. Then I thought I heard oars shortly before you came off.”

”Suppose the boatmen had meant to signal the vessel, why should they land when they could have lighted a flare on board?”