It was the baronet! Gasping for breath and sweating at every pore from his terrible exertions, he plunged madly down the beach, his eyes fixed in a glassy stare of terror. Suddenly he stumbled over a loose stone and fell heavily. It was the most fortunate fall he ever had; for, as he pitched forward, three great spears hummed out of the fungi, passing close over his prostrate body. Had he not tripped, he would certainly have been impaled by the murderous weapons. Emptying his revolver into the undergrowth to secure immunity from further attack, Haverly assisted his friend aboard, and, after a short rest, Seymour told his story. “Wal!” exclaimed Silas, when the baronet had finished, “I allow this licks all I ever heard! Mervyn carried off by a tricera--what do you call it?--an’ Garth wiped clean out as though he never existed, without you clappin’ eyes on the brutes that attacked him.” “What do you advise?” asked Seymour hoarsely; “we must act quickly, whatever course we decide upon. There is a chance--faint, I admit--that our friends are still alive, and if we go well armed we may manage to effect their rescue.” “And you don’t know what sort of brutes these are, that jumped you?” the American questioned. “Haven’t the least notion,” was the reply; “but I’ll admit they fairly scared me. Those wolfish cries of theirs completely unmanned me. There was something so devilish about the whole thing that my fear got the better of me, and I bolted for my life.” “Small blame to you,” replied Silas. “We heard a bit of the entertainment here. But now for business. This is how I figure things out. We’ll sink the boat, an’ trot her along a bit further up the coast, in case any of the gentry that trailed you are hidin’ in the mushroom bed there. Don’t think I funk meetin’ ’em; you know that ain’t my style. But it won’t do to take no chances on a picnic of this yer sort. With the lives of our two pards hangin’ on our efforts, I guess we’ve got to hustle some. I assume you can find that gully you mentioned again?” “Blindfold!” returned Seymour. “That’s well. If we don’t strike some kind of a trail, my name ain’t Si. K. Haverly. You don’t mind stoppin’ aboard alone, Wilson?” “Certainly not,” answered the engineer; “but for Heaven’s sake be careful. If you don’t return, and I am left alone, I think I shall go mad in this ghostly hole!” “I guess it’ll have to be a mighty smart nigger to get the drop on me and Seymour,” Haverly asserted. “Just skip down to your engines, like a good chap, an’ we’ll get a move on.” Within a few moments the _Seal_--totally submerged--was moving cautiously up the coast, under the able guidance of the American, while Seymour hastily packed a couple of knapsacks with provisions necessary for their expedition. Not knowing for how long a time they might be absent, Seymour, with the forethought of an old sportsman, stowed away the greatest possible amount of food in the limited space at his command.