Jack awoke with a start. The hot tropical sun shone on his face. Despite the threat of danger, he had slept soundly.

“Huh!” He sat up suddenly to find Stew laughing at him.

“That dream of yours must have been a humdinger!” Stew exclaimed. “You were grinning from ear to ear in your sleep.”

“Quite a dream,” Jack admitted. “I was back on my uncle’s farm. It was morning. Birds were singing, and a rooster crowing.”

“He still is.” Stew chuckled.

“Who still is what?” Jack stared.

“The rooster’s still crowing. Listen.”

Jack listened, and sure enough, there came the lusty crow of a rooster.

“People!” Jack stood up. “Our island has inhabitants! Where there’s chickens there’s folks! What do you know about that? Shall we look them up?”
61

“Wait a minute!” said Stew in a puzzled tone. “You can’t be sure there are people on these islands. Those chickens may be wild.”

“Perhaps they are,” Jack agreed. “But that fellow who flies the howling plane must be human, so we’d better watch our step, since that means there’s someone on the island.”

“I meant native people,” Stew corrected. “Many of these small islands are deserted now. The natives went to larger islands, or the Japs have taken them off. Perhaps it’s true here.”

“Could be,” said Jack, “but if we don’t look up the natives or whoever is on this place, how’ll we eat?”

“I guess it’s emergency rations for us,” Stew replied. “But that’s not so bad. We’ve got matches for a fire and there’s powdered coffee.”

“Coffee! Boy! Lead me to it!” Jack jumped up. “If you’ll make a small fire and get the coffee ready, I’ll look around a little and see what our possibilities are.”

“And I’m going to have a look at that screamer today or know the reason why!” Stew told himself as he collected dried shreds of palm fronds, coconut shucks, and splinters of wood for a fire.
62

The crowing rooster had become mysteriously silent. Convinced by this fact that he must be wild, Jack climbed over boulders and forced his way through briar patches to reach at last the crest of the ridge.

Not wishing to expose himself to so broad a view, he threw himself down on a broad rock, then dragged himself forward for a view of the land that lay beyond. He let out a gasp of surprise.

Beneath him was a lower ridge, and on outcropping rocks, with their backs to him, gazing off at the sea, were two native girls. He knew too little about native girls to judge their ages, but both seemed fully grown. They wore short, loose dresses of bright-colored cotton.

The two girls were so strangely different that it seemed they could hardly belong to the same tribe. “And yet,” the boy reasoned, “they must.” Both were quite dark, but there the similarity ended. One was short and stocky, with a mop of black hair that stood out all around her head.

“Regular fuzzy-wuzzy,” Jack told himself.

The other girl was rather slender, and her hair, though black and curly, had a tendency to lie down.

The short stout one held a live chicken by its feet. “There goes our rooster,” Jack thought.

The tall girl had a bunch of small wild bananas slung over her shoulder.
63

“Oh, well,” he thought, “they may have left a bunch of bananas still on the stalk near here.”

Just then the tall, slender girl, turned halfway around. Startled, not wishing to be seen, Jack drew back.

When he looked again the two girls were walking along the rocks. He got a profile view of them. “Yes,” he thought, “they are very different.” Both were barefoot, but the tall one walked with a joyous spring, while the other one just plodded along. With a laugh the tall girl lifted the bunch of bananas to her head, then, with this crown, she moved away as regally as a queen.

When they had vanished into the bushes he slid back down the rock to his own side of the ridge. After following the ridge for a short distance he took a different route toward their beach.

To his great joy, half way there he came upon a cluster of banana plants growing in a narrow run.

A small stream went trickling and tumbling down the center of the run. Taking a collapsible drinking cup from his pocket, he bent over a pool to fill the cup, then started in surprise. In the soft sand by the pool was the fresh imprint of a bare foot.

“They’ve been on our side of the ridge,” he told himself. “Half way down the slope. I wonder if they saw us?” This discovery disturbed him. One never could tell about natives in these wild islands.
64

The water was fresh and cold.

“Umm! Cold spring!” he murmured. “Water supply.” He made a mental note—he must follow that stream back to its source.

When he arrived at the banana patch, he discovered more evidence of their visitors, if they might be called that. One banana plant was minus a freshly cut bunch of bananas.

Selecting a fine bunch that was still green, he cut it off with a sheath knife, shouldered it, and went back down the ridge.

“We’re not alone here,” he said, when he reached camp.

“How come?” Stew asked.

“Natives beat us here. I saw two of them. They had our rooster. But I got some bananas.”

“I see,” said Stew. “How come you picked green ones?”

“They’ll be all right when they ripen,” Jack explained. “When they ripen on the plant, bananas are not fit to eat. They lose their flavor and become tasteless; also the skin bursts open and the ripening pulp is attacked by insects. We’l............