When it came, he made out the tented raft
scarcely a hundred yards away and a little below him. In the next
darkness he found the edge of it and dragged himself up on the
mass of timbers.
The thunder had been rolling steadily westward, and David crouched
low, hoping for one more flash to illumine the raft. It came at
last from a mass of inky cloud far to the west, so indistinct that
it made only dim shadows out of the tents and shelters, but it was
sufficient to give him direction. Before its faint glare died out,
he saw the deeper shadow of the cabin forward.
For many minutes he lay where he had dragged himself, without
making a movement in its direction. Nowhere about him could he see
a sign of light, nor could he hear any sound of life. St. Pierre's
people were evidently deep in slumber.
Carrigan had no very definite idea of the next step in his
adventure. He had swum from the bateau largely under impulse, with
no preconceived scheme of action, urged chiefly by the hope that
he would find St. Pierre in the cabin and that something might
come of it. As for knocking at the door and rousing the chief of
the Boulains from sleep--he had at the present moment no very good
excuse for that.
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