Part 30 (2/2)

”Now where is that skunk making for, I wonder?” said Norris, resting on his oar and peering through the screen.

”He go to the island, there, I theenk,” offered Jean Marat.

”Yes,” added Carlos. ”He go right for thee island.”

I had noted the island when we were on the cliffs. It was triangular, and on Marat's chart it measured a half mile in its greatest dimension.

”What's on it?” queried Norris, again resuming his rowing.

Carlos said he had been there many years ago, and then there were palms and brush, and in the midst, a hut and garden.

”There! He's going to land,” spoke Robert.

Captain Marat trained his gla.s.ses on the island, now barely more than a half mile away.

”Yes,” he said, ”he land. He is on thee sh.o.r.e now, an' he pull out thee canoe, I theenk.”

We set our boat in toward the south sh.o.r.e of the bay and here we found the mouth of a stream. A few rods up this creek we made our landing, and in a little we had got boat and all out of the water and into a sheltered place under the palms, for day would soon be breaking.

”You're the darndest bunch!” said Ray, rubbing his eyes. ”You'd think I hadn't paid for my lodging.”

He had fallen asleep in the boat, and didn't awaken till Norris had almost rolled him out into the water.

”It's that cannibal-priest-voodoo-skunk again I suppose,” continued Ray.

”Where have you got him now?”

”We've got him cornered, surrounded on Crusoe's island,” returned Norris.

”Surrounded,” sniffed Ray, ”like a gay porpoise, with water. And I'll bet when you catch him, you'll find he's only Crusoe's man, Friday.”

This suggestion, although made in sport, startled us. Perhaps after all, the occupant of the canoe had not been Duran. It might have been only one of his numerous blacks, one more in his confidence than any of those on his schooner.

When day came, and that was but an hour after our landing, I began anxiously to scan that island through Marat's gla.s.ses. It was not long till I saw a rowboat put off from the island and move toward the south sh.o.r.e far down the bay. Unmistakably, it was a black in the boat, and alone, apparently, and his bulk was much too portly for the figure of Duran. And before the morning was half gone another figure appeared, coming out of the palms on the island. And my heart thumped with excitement as I strained my eyes at the gla.s.ses.

The figure (black of face) stood on the sh.o.r.e, looking out across the bay to the west. Was it Duran? I asked myself. Surely the form was not unlike his, but there were many real blacks in his employ who, at that distance would have looked much the same.

And then occurred a thing that settled the matter, and I thrilled all over. The man's hand went up to the side of his head, and the fingers toyed with the ear in that characteristic manner of Duran's, when he was in deep thought. There could be no doubt, I saw the hand moving up and down with the stroking. It was Duran!

I turned to my friends and gave them my news.

”Well, anyway,” pouted Ray, ”his man Friday was there; he went off in a boat.”

”And now, what do you suppose he's doing on that island then?” asked Norris.

”He's burying his gold, of course,” said Ray.

”Or maybe he's just after provisions,” I suggested.

<script>