The frantic man dashed back and forth along the crest, tossing his arms,
waving his Madras handkerchief, cursing himself for leaving his gun so far
behind, and again and again repeating his vain ahoys in wilder and wilder
alternations of beseeching and rage. The lessening craft flew straight on,
no ear in her skilled enough to catch the distant cry, and no eye alert
enough to scan the dwindling sand-hills. He ceased to call, but still,
with heavy notes of distress to himself, waved and waved, now here, now
there, while the sail grew smaller and smaller. At length he stopped this
also and only stood gazing. Almost on first sight of the craft he had
guessed that the men in her had taken alarm at the signs of changing
weather, and seeing the freshening smoke of his fire had also inferred
that earlier sportsmen were already on the island. Oh, if he could have
fired one shot when she was nearest! But already she was as hopelessly
gone as though she were even now below the horizon. Suddenly he turned and
ran down to his camp. Not for the gun; not in any new hope of signalling
the yacht. No, no; a raft! a raft! Deliverance or destruction, it should
be at his own hand and should wait no longer!
A raft forthwith he set about to make.
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