There came a time when Pen could no longer keep up even the pretense of doing her chores. Always with her mind's eyes she was following the searchers. They had come to the edge of the woods. They were spreading out. They were waiting until the parties on either side came up. Now they had climbed the fence and were advancing slowly with their guns held ready; ignorant, passionate men with their guns cocked! She went to her room and paced up and down with her clenched hands pressed to her breast. She could not stay there either. She came down on the porch where she could hear better and paced endlessly up and down, careless of who might be a witness to her agitation. All her faculties were concentrated on hearing. She was listening for shots. Time passed and there was no news. She sent Ellick, the more intelligent of Aunt Maria's sons down to the beach to pick up what he could. One or two negroes had come over in the boats. This was regarded as a white man's business and they were not allowed to take part in it. Nothing transpired until mid-afternoon when Ellick came back to say that the motorcycle boys had brought in Counsell's camping outfit which had been found in the woods. Of Counsell himself there was no word. A wild hope arose in Pen's breast. Suppose after all he had succeeded in getting away up the Neck before the line was drawn across it! Her hope soon sickened though. What good if he had escaped for the moment? There was but the one road eighty miles long, by which he could reach cities and crowds and safety. And by this time everybody along that road was on the _qui vive_ to catch him, their mouths watering at the ten thousand dollar reward. What chance had he of succor? Where could he get food? Or on that sandy peninsula, water? She tormented her brain with futile calculations. Could he or could he not have made it? Delehanty had dispatched the party up the creek immediately after searching the house. Pen had heard the boats set off. By that time Don had had half an hour's start. A man walks perhaps four miles an hour, the boats averaged seven. It was four miles to the head of the creek, and but a step from the landing to the Neck road. Still Don ought to have got there first. But he might have turned aside to get something from his hidden store in the woods! Pen's brain whirled dizzily. At other times she pictured him crouching white-faced in the bush, listening to the relentless slow approach of the searchers, and knowing that the other side was watched too. Then the dash for freedom, the shots ... That picture came back again and again. She could not shut it out. How gladly she would have heard the news that he had been brought in--unhurt.