“I told the men to leave him provisions and matches.  I have no matches nor provisions.  I cannot make a fire with sticks, as he did,” replied the prisoner in an humble and whining tone intended to placate.

“Well,” Tom considered, “we might leave you some matches and some grub.  You could find plenty of wood hereabouts, couldn’t you?”

“There’s plenty of wood here if one could work it up,” replied Wyckoff.  “The storms have washed ashore thousands of pieces of planks and timbers of all sorts.  Why, once I came out to one of the islands and found a fine boat washed ashore by a storm.  It was perfectly sound and tight, too.  There’s plenty of timber here to make one rich if he could only salvage it and get it to market.”

“Then if we leave you a box of matches and some canned goods,” Tom argued, “you’d be a lot better off than Frank was.”

A shout from the direction of the Fortuna indicated that something was taking place there.  Wyckoff glanced hastily in that direction.  Tom’s first impulse was to look that way, also, but his training stood him in good stead.  By a magnificent effort of will he kept his eyes fastened on the prisoner, who stared intently toward the Fortuna as if fascinated by what he saw.  Thus they sat for a moment or two.  Then Tom regained his composure.  Wyckoff glanced out of the corner of his eye narrowly at his guard.  Tom laughed.

“You didn’t want the provisions badly enough to wait for them, did you, you old fox?” he taunted.  “You wanted me to look away for a minute and then you’d have gone looking for provisions alone.”

“You do me an injustice, lad,” replied Wyckoff meekly.

“All right; I apologize; but the gun is in working order just the same, and don’t you forget it.  It’s still on the job.”

Wyckoff’s glance was baleful and full of venom as he controlled himself with a visible effort.  Hatred seemed to ooze from him as he sat quiet very much against his will.

Another shout from the boat gave with its note of triumph a message that the boys were meeting success in their efforts to get the Fortuna off the beach.  Wyckoff looked intently that way.

“Ha!” he ejaculated.  “They’re fetching it!  Good boys!”

In spite of his resolve to keep his eyes on the prisoner, Tom’s gaze wandered for an instant to the sight viewed by Wyckoff.

That instant seemed to be the object of the outlaw’s vigil.

The boys on the Fortuna had, by dint of great exertion, managed to work the yacht from her resting place on the beach where Tom had driven her in his mad race to rescue them a short time previously.  Because of the short distance traveled, the momentum of the boat had not been sufficient to drive her far up on the beach, so it was not a difficult matter to get her afloat again.  The powerful motors tugged and pulled and at last they were again afloat, but minus their anchor.

Frank offered to dive for it, and, divesting himself of his clothing, went overboard in the clear water of the little bight where the anchor and cable could be seen lying on the bottom.