“Huh!” growled Boyle, “the skipper’s out of sight now. Gone into a small creek or something of the sort. Hope he heard the horn. Let her rip!” he added in a loud shout over his shoulder, and again the siren flung a warning to the foot of the mountain range. It was evident that the wonderful eyesight of the Indians practically equalled the range of the telescope. The men in the canoes were aware of the lifeboat’s disappearance, and their wet paddles flashed in the sun as they tore across the three miles of open water which separated the southern promontory from the inner shore of the island. After a phenomenal spell of fine weather in that storm-swept latitude, the atmosphere was transparent and bright as that of Stornoway on a clear day in December. The rays of the sun were reflected from many a blue glacier and ice-covered slope. Even the green of the higher belt of firs was dazzling in its emerald luster, and the copper-hued beeches beneath shone in patches of burnished gold. Elsie was sick at heart with the knowledge that red-eyed murder was stalking its prey under the resplendent mantle spread by nature over a scene of rare beauty. In an agony of apprehension she followed the progress of the canoes. Creeping nearer Boyle, she whispered: “For Heaven’s sake, say the life-boat is visible again!” He held up a hand to enforce silence. A deep hush fell on the ship. “Listen!” he muttered, so low that Elsie alone caught the words. “Can you hear firing?” She thought she could distinguish an irregular patter of dull reports, and the behavior of the Indians showed that additional excitement was toward. Many of them stood up and waved their arms, possibly as a signal to their allies on shore. The canoes raced madly. Where speed was vital the rough-hewn native craft were far swifter than the solidly-built lifeboat, with its broad beam and deep draft. And that was all. Though they strained their eyes and spoke with bated breath, never a sight of boat or canoes was obtainable for hours after the latter were swallowed up by the trees which shrouded the creek at the foot of Guanaco Hill.