"Yes," she answered. "I am here; to your right. I am, standing up. Have
you discovered anything?"
"There is a house of some kind over yonder in a hollow just beyond the
ridge--more than likely a fisherman's hut, as there is a boat of some
kind beached in the cove the other side of this promontory. We will have
to stumble along through the dark. Do you think you can make it?"
"Of course, I can," and she placed her hand confidingly in his. "I am all
right now; really I am; I guess all I needed was to get my breath. Do we
go up here--the way you came back?"
"I presume so; I know no other passage, and found no path."
"But," she urged. "If there is a boat on the beach, isn't it likely there
would be a trail from there to this fisherman's hut?"
"Why, of course; it was stupid of me not to think of this before. The
sooner we start, the quicker we shall arrive. I want most of all to
telegraph McAdams."
"Who?"
"McAdams, the detective I told you about in Chicago, an old army buddy of
mine. He'll have Hobart located by this time, no doubt, and will put the
screws on him when he learns what has happened to us."
"I see," she agreed softly, "and if he does know the whole story we need
not be so crazy to get back. He will attend to everything."
"Yes; we can wait up here until morning at least; you need a night's
rest, and no wonder."
He grasped her arm, helping her to clamber up the steep bank, suddenly
becoming aware that the sleeve felt dry.
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