But I was sure that the first thing he did was to make
the circuit of the beach to learn if landings had been made by
other boats. This he would have known at once by the tracks
through the mud.
Convinced that no boat had removed me from the island, he next
started to find out what had become of me. Beginning at the pile
of clamshells, he lighted matches to trace my tracks in the sand.
At such times I could see his villanous face plainly, and, when the
sulphur from the matches irritated his lungs, between the raspy
cough that followed and the clammy mud in which I was lying, I
confess I shivered harder than ever.
The multiplicity of my footprints puzzled him. Then the idea that
I might be out in the mud must have struck him, for he waded out a
few yards in my direction, and, stooping, with his eyes searched
the dim surface long and carefully. He could not have been more
than fifteen feet from me, and had he lighted a match he would
surely have discovered me.
He returned to the beach and clambered about, over the rocky
backbone, again hunting for me with lighted matches, The closeness
of the shave impelled me to further flight.
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