“Can you catch him?” said Daisy. “He can be a prisoner too.”
“But not a sacrifice,” said Bridget. “They all promised I could. Come on, Sinbad. Quick.”
Sinbad himself seemed anxious to join them. He pushed through the grass. Bridget picked him up.
Daisy, the female savage, was talking earnestly to the other two. “Well, if we can’t, we can’t,” she said. “But we’re going to try.” She turned to Bridget. “Now then. You keep close to me. Pity your dress is so clean. That blue can be seen for miles.”
“It was much cleaner before I slipped,” said Bridget.
“You could roll in the mud,” said Daisy.
“Susan wouldn’t like it.”
“Who’s Susan? Missionary?”
“Mate,” said Bridget.
“All right,” said Daisy. “So long as you don’t get seen. We shan’t because of the mud. That’s why we do it. But a dress as bright as that. Well, if anybody does see you we’ll just have to bolt for it and leave you behind.”
“Oh no,” begged Bridget. “They said I could if you’d let me.”
“On the trail,” said Daisy, who seemed to be in command, though the boys were bigger in size. “Dum leads, Dee at the rear. Nobody shows a head above the dyke. If we see anybody we’ll all go down in the mud, Susan or no Susan. …”
“I mustn’t really,” said Bridget.
“Let’s hope you won’t have to. Come on, prisoner!”
“And you’ll let me be the human sacrifice?”
Already the savages were on the move. The one whom Daisy called Dum galloped ahead, keeping well below the top of the dyke, looking keenly about him, a stooping, running figure the colour of the mud. Daisy followed him with Bridget, who was carrying the kitten. The other savage, whose name seemed to be Dee, came after them, looking behind him every now and then as if to see that they were not pursued.
Bridget in her blue shirt trotted cheerfully along with the mud-coated savages. John and Susan and Titty had been wrong after all. Even Nancy had been wrong. They had all said that the savages would have nothing to do with them, and that even the Mastodon would not be able to keep his promise. Well, they were wrong. Bridget was extremely happy. She was going to be a human sacrifice after all.
They hurried along the foot of the curving dyke close to the mud of the Red Sea. Bridget wanted an answer to her question, but was soon too short of breath to speak, and anyhow the answer must be Yes or they would never be taking her with them. How wrong the others had been.
“I’ll carry the kitten for a bit,” said the female savage.
Bridget handed Sinbad over and they ran on.
Suddenly the foremost savage stopped dead, took three or four quick steps to one side, stooping low, and threw himself full length in the mud. Bridget suddenly found herself flat in the grass. The female savage had pulled her down, put the kitten into her hands, and rolled sideways off the dyke. Bridget looked round. The third savage had disappeared. If she had not known exactly where to look for Daisy, Bridget could have thought she was alone.
“Flat as you can,” came a whisper from Daisy lying in the mud. “It’s the farmer. Bother your dress being so bright.”
“I’ve got a lot more mud on it now,” said Bridget breathlessly.
“Good.”
Some distance ahead of them a man was standing on the top of the dyke, watching the rising tide spread over the mud of the inland sea. He had not seen them. Bridget lay still. For a moment the man seemed to be looking directly towards them.
“It’s the man from the kraal,” whispered Bridget. “He’s a friend.”
“Don’t move. He’s a paleface.” The answering whisper came from the mud.
The man seemed to look right round the horizon. He turned, strode off the dyke and was gone.
The savages gave him a minute or two.
Then, glistening with fresh mud, they were up and on the move once more. Just before they came to the place where the road from the farm came over the dyke they stopped, and the foremost savage signalled to them to wait while he scouted. Bridget lost sight of him again and again while he wormed himself through the grass.
Then she saw a black arm flung in the air.
“Coast clear,” whispered the female savage, and they ran on, crossed the road, and, still keeping well below the top of the dyke, turned a corner. Here the water ran close in to the land. Three small sailing dinghies lay some distance away among the weeds. The foremost savage was already plucking at an anchor hidden in a tussock. A long painter slapped and dripped as he tugged, and a dinghy left the weeds and shot in towards the shore. Daisy and the other savage did the same and three little boats were dragged in and grounded at their feet.
“Hop in,” said Daisy.
“My boots are awfully muddy,” said Bridget.
“Not as muddy as we are. We’ll wash the boats out afterwards.”
Bridget scrambled in, Daisy after her. The other two savages pushed off in their boats. All three rowed out and away into the channel. Presently mud banks and weedy marshes hid the island.
They stopped rowing and let the boats drift.
Bridget wondered what was going to happen next. There was a splash, and then another. Two savages had gone overboard, bobbed up again and were hanging to their boats with one arm while they washed the mud off with the other.
“Won’t be a minute,” said Daisy. “We’ve got to think of the missionaries.” The next moment she too was over the side, and rapidly changing colour.
Presently the three savages climbed in again over the sterns of their boats, not exactly white, for they were very sunburnt, but looking almost as if they were explorers and not savages at all.
“No wind,” said Daisy. “Tide coming in. We’ll have to row like smoke.”
The three savages bent to their oars. The three little boats foamed through the water. The marshes closed in on either side as the channel narrowed, and presently opened again.
“We’ve done it all right,” said Daisy.
“Where are we going?” asked Bridget.
“Our camp,” said Daisy.
“I knew I was old enough,” said Bridget.
CHAPTER XIX
HOT ON THE TRAIL
“HERE’S WHERE I found it,” said Roger.
“Here’s where they got her,” said Nancy. “Look at the way the grass is all broken. Someone’s been lying here on the side of the dyke.”
“But look at all the mud on the grass.”
“She’s fallen in the mud,” said Susan. “Anything may have happened.”
“Well if she’s been in the mud she’s got out again,” said John. “She couldn’t have got all that mud on the grass before she went in.”
“I say, look here,” said Roger. “Someone’s been fairly wallowing.” He had gone down the side of the dyke and was looking at the muddy ditch that at high water cut off the marshy point and made an island of it. “Looks as if it was a young hippo. It couldn’t be the Mastodon?”
“He’s been away all day. We’ve seen him,” said John.
“Those aren’t Bridget’s footmarks,” said Peggy, who had also gone down to the edge of the ditch. “They’re longer. Besides, if she’d taken her boots off we’d have found them. Whoever made these had bare feet.”
“Somebody’s been lying down here,” said Roger. “And here’s another lot of mud.”
Nancy, stooping low, was moving along the foot of the dyke. Suddenly she straightened herself. “Susan,” she said, “have a look at this.”
In the soft ground at the edge of the mud was a group of clear footprints. Some showed toes, but there were a few smaller ones without.
“Those are Bridget’s,” said Susan. “I’d know them anywhere.”
“She stood here,” said Nancy, “and somebody else with no shoes on was talking to her. Two other people. That bare foot’s bigger than the other one. Eels, I bet you anything.”
“But why didn’t she yel
l?” said Titty. “I’d have heard her.”
“Not if you were drawing,” said Roger. “When you’re drawing you have to be prodded.”
“Perhaps she didn’t yell,” said Nancy. “Perhaps she couldn’t. Gagged. Bound hand and foot.” She pulled up short on seeing Susan’s face.
“Come on,” shouted Peggy. “This is the way they went.” She had gone on along the foot of the dyke, and was pointing to a trail of broken and bent grass, and to another lot of footprints on a soft patch of ground.
“They couldn’t have got ashore here,” said John, looking out over the marshes, “or got afloat again. They may be still on the island.”
“Come on. A rescue. A rescue,” cried Nancy. “Catch them before they get to their boats.”
The explorers, like a pack of hounds, nose to the scent, hurried along the foot of the dyke. Bent and trodden grass showed the way the savages and their prisoner had made off.
“Hullo,” Roger, who was galloping ahead, suddenly stopped. “Here are footprints going the other way.”
“Well,” said Nancy. “They had to get here first. The Red Sea’s been dry most of the day.” She hurried on.
“Cheer up, Susan,” said John. “We’ll get her again.”
“She’ll have been awfully frightened,” said Susan. “I ought never to have left her. It isn’t Titty’s fault. You know what it’s like when she’s doing something.”
“Can’t think how they managed it,” said John.
“Good Eels,” said Nancy.
“Beasts,” said Titty.
They hurried on below the dyke towards the place where the cart track from the farm came over it and down to the Red Sea, where, already, the waters had met over the Wade and the mudflats were narrowing as the tide crept over them.
Roger, who was again running ahead, stopped once more.
“Someone fell down,” he said. “You can see where they lay on the grass.”
“But look here,” said Nancy. “This is mad. More wallowing. Look at this. What on earth were they doing, going off the bank and rolling in the mud?”
“Don’t wait,” said Susan. She hurried on, following the track clearly marked in the grass. “It doesn’t matter what they did. We’ve got to find her. I do wish I’d stayed in the camp with her.”
Where the cart track came down to the Red Sea there was damp ground for a few yards and no grass on it.
“It is Eels,” said Roger. “Two running barefoot, and Bridget.”
“Three of them,” said John. “That pair’s different from this, and these are smaller than either. Three barefoot and Bridget.”
“Oh don’t wait to look at them,” said Susan.
They ran on, and suddenly found they were running through grass that had never been trodden. The trackers spread out up and over the dyke, like hounds that have lost the scent. Away to the right were the marshy islands of the Magellan Straits. Away to the left were quiet fields with grazing cattle. The sun shone warm on the red brick of the native kraal in the middle of the island. Far ahead of them was the line of the open sea, and the golden sand dunes of Flint Island. But there was never a sign of savages or prisoner.
Peggy was the first to turn back, and within a minute she was calling to them.
“Got something, Peggy?” called Nancy, and added, “She’s a galoot on some things but pretty good on tracks.”
Peggy was pointing at the ground. The tide was lapping near the bank, and by a tuft of grass she had found heavy footprints, and three deep holes with torn edges. From this tuft it was as if lines had been lightly scratched on the mud. People had been trampling there. People had jumped from one soft tussock to another.
“Boats,” said John. “They had their anchors here. They’ve gone.”
Titty was already on the top of the dyke, racing back as fast as she could run.
“That’s it,” cried Nancy. “Come on. They’ve taken her with them to their camp. We can’t get after them without boats. Come on. Back to our landing place.” John, Susan, Peggy and Roger pelted after her, with Titty already far ahead of them.
Breathlessly they reached the camp. Breathlessly they splashed down the marshy path to the landing place. Nobody bothered to wash the mud off, as they tumbled into the boats and pushed off, six of them, three to a boat.
“You steer, Roger,” said Susan. “John and I’ll take an oar each.”
“I’ll manage all right,” said John.
“No,” said Susan, who felt that every moment counted, and could not bear the thought of sitting there doing nothing while someone else rowed.
“I’ll keep time with you,” said John.
Nancy saw what they were doing, and for different reasons did the same. “Titty’ll keep us straight,” she said. “Can’t let them beat us. Go it, Peggy. One. Two. One. Two. Lift her along.”
The two boats shot out of Goblin Creek and began the long pull down the Secret Water.
*
“What are we going to do?” asked Roger.
“Get her back,” panted John.
*
“What are we going to do?” asked Titty.
“Bust those Eels,” jerked Nancy, as she swung forward with her oar.
*
It was hard rowing against the tide, but they came at last to the buoy with a cross on it and the channel leading between their island and the sandy dunes of Flint Island. Both boats swung round to the right as if going up to the town. There were the yachts they had seen at anchor, three of them … no … four. Another had come in since yesterday and was lying in the bay nearer the mouth of the channel than the other three. The fourth was the yellow cutter.
“There’s their ship,” said Roger.
“Better go straight to it and ask for her,” said Susan.
John wiped his forehead. “We can’t do that,” he said. “We don’t want to get them in a row with their missionaries.”
“But if they’ve got her aboard,” said Susan. “They ought never to have taken her.”
“There’s only a little punt lying astern,” said John. “They won’t have taken her there. Hullo. Nancy’s seen something.”
Nancy and Peggy had stopped rowing. Their boat was a little way ahead and Nancy was pointing in towards the shore.
John and Susan pulled on, Susan watching the yacht all the time, looking for any sign of a prisoner.
“Their boats,” said Roger.
Three small sailing dinghies lay in a row, pulled well up on the bright golden beach of Flint Island. There were no tents to be seen, but plenty of footmarks going up from the shore.
THE MISSION SHIP OFF FLINT ISLAND
“They’ve landed,” said Nancy quietly. “What do we do? Go in quietly, grab their boats and then rush the camp?”
“Where are their tents?” said Peggy.
“They’ll be in the hollow where we found that fireplace.”
“Funny they’ve left no one on guard,” said John. He looked doubtfully towards the yacht lying off the shore. A man in a white sweater had come up into the cockpit and was shaking his pipe out over the side. “I suppose they think they’re safe with the missionaries out there.”
“Do hurry up,” said Susan. “Bridget’s probably frightened out of her life.”
They rowed in and grounded their boats beside the three small sailing dinghies they had last seen at Pin Mill. Nancy and John took the anchors well up the steep sandy beach.
“Somebody stand guard over the boats,” said Nancy.
“Never mind the boats,” said Susan, and ran towards the dunes.
At the top of the steep beach she stopped, and the others, who had been close behind, stopped with her. No wonder now that, on the morning of their arrival, the Mastodon had mistaken their camp for the camp of the friends he was expecting. The Swallows looked down into the sandy hollow between the dunes to see three tents exactly like their own, and a fourth a little larger. It was as if somebody had taken their tents and planted them in a new place. But i
t did not seem that anybody was there. They had expected to come upon the Eels and their prisoner, not upon a deserted camp.
“They must have known we were after them,” said Nancy.
“Bridget! Bridget!” Susan called again.
“No good shouting if they’ve got her gagged and bound,” said Nancy.
But at that moment, Bridget herself, neither bound nor gagged, crawled out of the larger tent.
“Hullo, Susan,” she called. “They’ve agreed. They say I’m quite old enough and I’m going to be a human sacrifice after all.”
“Oh, Bridget,” cried Susan. “Are you all right?”
“What happened?” said John.
But others were coming out of the tent. Two boys and a girl, all in black bathing things.
“Karabadangbaraka!” All three spoke together.
For a moment nobody answered.
“I remembered it,” said Bridget. “And she did say ‘gand’ instead of ‘gnad’.”
“They didn’t hurt you?” asked Roger fiercely.
“Of course not,” said Bridget. “And they’re going to tell him it’s all right.”
“Karabadangbaraka,” said the girl earnestly, and then stamped her foot. “Aren’t you Eels?”
“Look here,” said John. “There’s absolutely no need for you to be friends with us if you don’t want to. But it’s no good trying to make us clear out, because we can’t. We’re marooned. We can’t go till the ship comes to take us. And anyway I don’t see why we should. There’s plenty of room.”
“It was all a mistake,” said the girl. “We didn’t know what you were like till we caught Bridget. We had no idea you were blood brothers.”
“You oughtn’t to have taken Bridget,” said Susan.
“It was too good a chance to miss,” said the girl. “And here’s something else of yours. We thought you’d bagged it.” She darted back into the tent and came back with the painted totem pole.
“But how did you get it?” said Titty. “I never left the camp all day.”