CHAPTER XIX.

Left Behind.

No reply was necessary, for in another instant both the mate and the
sailor comprehended the cause of Ralph's surprise and alarm.

The Wanderer was nowhere to be seen.

The entire surface of the small, landlocked bay was as deserted and
seemingly untouched by man's presence, as if human eyes had never
beheld its solitude. A glimpse of the inlet and the breakers far out
on the bar beyond was visible between two islets.

They could hear the monotonous thunder of the surf and discern a glassy
ocean farther out, for the morning was calm, promising also to be
intensely hot.

The surprise of each was so supreme that for an instant nothing was
said. Finally the mate, with an expression of deep perplexity on his
countenance, said:

"I cannot understand it at all. Let us row to the landing. Perhaps we
may gain some clue to the mystery."

So they pulled across to the part of the harbor where the schooner had
been anchored when Duff, heading the boat for the shore, plunged them
into the leafy recesses that overhung the water. Having once
penetrated this outer curtain, Ralph saw they were close to a rude
landing made of logs sunk endways into the oozy bottom, and floored