"Easy!" Barcus counselled, pulling up. "Not too far into this wilderness, or we'll be lost."
Meantime the dory had grounded on the beach, and its occupants, jumping out, set off in pursuit of the fugitives, following their tracks with the aid of electric flash-lamps. The darkness, however, conspired with the labyrinth of the dunes to save Alan and his companion. It was a matter of comparative ease to confuse the chase.
Within five minutes—while the chase floundered at random a quarter mile to the south—Law and Barcus were squirming snakelike up the back of a ten-foot bluff. From its brow they looked down on the spot where the dory lay—under armed guard—an unhappy fact made evident by the play of a flash-lamp intermittently raking the beach on every hand.
In an interval of blackness, slowly and stealthily Alan got to his feet and swung back a heavy club of driftwood which he had chanced upon. A pause ensued, of waiting for the flash-light to make sure of his aim. Instead of that, a match spluttered, revealing with its reddish glow a bronzed and evil visage intent upon the bowl of a pipe.
The guard puffed fast and had the tobacco well aglow when the sky took advantage of his trustfulness and fell upon him like an avalanche. Simultaneously, Alan and Barcus slid down the face of
