For the next week the boys had little time to themselves. The drama with the burning shack was enacted over again, this time with success, the volunteer firemen not throwing any water on the blaze. Other sea dramas were also made, and then came a period of rest, in which Blake and Joe had hardly anything to do.
"Say," exclaimed Blake, one afternoon, "let's go for a walk down the beach, by the cliffs. It's a fine day and it will do us good."
"All right," agreed Joe. "I was thinking of paying another visit to the lighthouse, and asking if there was any news of my father; but, of course, there can't be."
"Hardly," agreed Blake, thinking that the only news his chum would get there would be bad.
They strolled along the shore, making excursions here and there as something attracted them. Going through a little group of scrub oak, somewhat back from the shore, and climbing a slight elevation to get a view of the Pacific, the boys were startled, as they were about to emerge into a little open glade, to hear voices.
"Some one else besides us out here to-day," spoke Joe, in a low voice.
"That's right," agreed his chum. "Keep still until we see who it is."
Cautiously they advanced until they stood be-
