We stayed our appetites with wild guavas and yams, and moved slowly
forward in the direction that we surmised that Leith was moving in. Our
inability to find the path left us the only alternative of pushing on
toward the hills in the hope that we would intercept the party before it
reached the caverns which made the basalt cliffs a secure hiding place.
Once the arch villain reached the caves it would be a difficult matter
to locate him, and we damned the crazy brain of the Professor as we
thought of the lonely position of the Isle of Tears. If the captain of
_The Waif_ was in league with Leith it would be absolutely impossible to
obtain help to rescue the girls and their father, and we would be
marooned upon the island for an indefinite period.
It was within a few minutes of sunset when our despondency was suddenly
swept away. The silence of the jungle was disturbed by a shrill voice
that protested loudly against something which the owner was called upon
to do, and our hearts punched our ribs with mighty blows as we crawled
forward. The voice belonged to Professor Clinton Herndon of California.
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