CHAPTER XXIII
THE HORRORS OF THE LAGOON
Not until he had reached the rise of ground from which he had firstlooked down into the ravine did Phil pause. Then he turned and cast onebackward glance at the sinister group gathered about the fire.
They seemed to have settled down into a drunken sleep, for theirfigures, dwarfed with distance, were sprawled upon the ground and thefire had burned low.
Phil wondered about the man whom Ramirez had shot down. Was he dead? Heshuddered at the thought of that shapeless, huddled figure on the grass.He turned and hurried on through the blackness.
But he had not gone very far when he was stopped by an obstruction whichhad not been there when he had passed that way before.
At this point the rocky side of the mountain jutted almost to the sea.Phil remembered how when he had been cautiously following the flittingshadow of Ramirez, he had been forced to circle this projection, comingwell out onto the sandy beach.
Now there was no beach, nothing but a swirling sea of water, seeming tomock at his helplessness. For a moment Phil was dumbfounded and then theexplanation of the thing came to him.
While he had been following Ramirez, while he had been spying upon thatband of ruffians gathered about the fire, the water, urged on by theincoming tide, had crept up and up until it had covered that narrowstrip of sand, pounding in vain against the almost perpendicular side ofthe mountain.
For a moment Phil did not realize the full meaning of this calamity. Butit was not long before the peril of his predicament was brought home tohim.
At first he thought that the water could not be very deep. He did notrealize how long a time had passed since he had been that way before.Tentatively he put his foot in it, then stepped back quickly. He hadseen something that made the blood run cold in his veins.
There, dimly outlined in the wan light of the stars was the dorsal finof a shark! He thought there were more than one, but he could not besure.
Sharks! It is no wonder that for a moment Phil felt utterly thwarted andhelpless. He was caught, caught in a trap as pretty as though Ramirezhimself had set it for him.
He might get back to the cave by retracing his steps toward the ravinehe had just left and find another route across the island, but thisafter a moment he rejected as being almost impossible.
He was not familiar with this part of the island and he knew that thedamage done by the earthquake had made some sections of it impassable.It was getting near morning too, and it would never do to be foundwandering about this part of the island after daybreak.
Someway he must get back to the cave and warn his unsuspecting comrades.Someway he must get across that swirling lagoon. Once on the other side,the rest would be simple. He had only to follow the shore to reach thecave.
But once more the problem confronted him. How to cross that narrowstretch of water. The water was probably swarming with sharks. He couldnot hope to get a third, no, not even a quarter, of the way across thedeath stretch without meeting a most horrible fate. And yet his comradesmust be warned!
He gazed up at the stars as though seeking some help from them. But theylooked down at him unblinkingly, far away, remote, cold. He could expectno help from them.
Although the night was breathlessly hot, Phil shivered. He stared at thenarrow, menacing lagoon as though it fascinated him. He made a steptoward it, then stopped as something wound and clung about his foot.
He stooped to disentangle himself and his groping fingers foundthemselves buried in wet seaweed. Suddenly, with the swiftness ofinspiration, the idea came to him. It was a mad idea of course, utterlydesperate, but then, his case was desperate.
There was plenty of that seaweed, great bunches of it, thrown up by theincoming tide. If he should bury himself in it, winding it about him sothat he resembled a huge tangle of the stuff, might he not hope to foolthe sharks? He could not fool them for long that was sure, but thelagoon was narrow. Their bewilderment might give him the chance to getacross.
No sooner did Phil think of it than he began to put the idea intopractice. He was feeling excited, almost elated. Now that he had a plan,no matter how dangerous, there was a great relief in being able to putit into practice.
He had no difficulty in gathering together all the sea weed needed forhis purpose. Dexterously he wound it about his body, binding it abouthis waist with his belt and fastening it about his neck and arms andankles with long strands of the grass itself.
When his work was finished, he looked like nothing so much as a hugehaystack in action. The seaweed was mighty uncomfortable, its dampnesspenetrating his clothes and the sharp edges pricking his skin where itwas exposed.
"I hope I can manage to keep afloat with all this cargo aboard me," hesaid grimly to himself as he paused on the edge of that death stretch,gathering courage to fling himself into its shark-infested waters. "Nowfor it--and here's trusting to luck that I ever come out of it."
He tried to speak lightly, more for the sake of his own encouragementthan anything else, but as he slowly waded into the water he knew thatthe adventure he was entering upon might very well be his last.
Slowly, with infinite caution, he waded into the water till it was abouthis waist, then slowly raised his feet and lowered his arms till he layface downward, swaying with the motion of the water.
Never before in his life had he done anything as hard as that. As longas he was on his feet, it seemed there was the chance to fight. Butlying there like this, at the mercy of those giant pirates of the sea!He shivered and still lay motionless.
Then quietly, very gently, so as not to arouse the suspicion of hisenemies, he began to move his arms, then his legs, ever so slowly, sothat the motion was scarcely noticeable in the swirling of the water.
Before him, beside him, everywhere around him, flashed the sinister finsof sharks. Puzzled, they swam closely about this queer object thatlooked like seaweed but that moved as though it had life.
Phil hardly breathed. It seemed to him as though even his heart hadstopped beating. The shore--would he never reach it? He did not evendare to lift his head to see.
The Radio Boys Under the Sea; or, The Hunt for Sunken Treasure Page 23