I returned to the sawing process, and at the end of half an hour
succeeded in severing the rope. The rest was easy. My hands once
free, it was a matter of minutes to loosen my legs and to take the
gag out of my mouth. I ran around the island to make sure it WAS
an island and not by any chance a portion of the mainland. An
island it certainly was, one of the Marin group, fringed with a
sandy beach and surrounded by a sea of mud. Nothing remained but
to wait till daylight and to keep warm; for it was a cold, raw
night for California, with just enough wind to pierce the skin and
cause one to shiver.
To keep up the circulation, I ran around the island a dozen times
or so, and clambered across its rocky backbone as many times more--
all of which was of greater service to me, as I afterward
discovered, than merely to warm me up. In the midst of this
exercise I wondered if I had lost anything out of my pockets while
rolling over and over in the sand. A search showed the absence of
my revolver and pocket-knife.
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