The cards were dealt on the two rough boards, and they played, using the old coins they had brought with them as counters. Pan watched a little while, then he retired, finding there was nothing more to eat, and stretched himself a few yards away. The fire fell lower, flickered, blazed again: the last sticks thrown on burning off in the middle broke and half rolled off one side and half the other; the smoke ceased to rise, the heated vapour which took its place was not visible. By-and-by the moon’s white light alone filled the interior of the stockade, and entered in at the doorway of the hut, for the glimmer of the horn-lantern did not reach beyond the boards of their tables. At last the candle guttered and went out, but they played on by the moonlight. “Ah, ah!” said Bevis presently. “Double bezique!” shouted Mark; “and all the money’s mine!” Pan looked up at the noise. “The proper thing is, to shoot you under the table,” said Bevis: “that’s what buccaneers do.” “But there were no revolvers when we lived,” said Mark; “only matchlocks.” “Shovel them up,” said Bevis. “Broad gold pieces, but you won’t have them long. I’m tired to-night. I shall win them to-morrow, and your estate, and your watch, and your shirt off your back, and your wife--” “I shan’t have a wife,” said Mark, yawning as he pocketed the coins, which were copper. “I don’t want a Frances--O, no! thank you very much!” “What’s the time?” “Nearly twelve.” “I’m tired.” “Make the bed.” They began to make it, and recollected that one of the rugs was under the teak-tree, where they had hoisted it up for an awning. Bevis took his bow and arrow; Mark his spear. They called Pan, and thus, well armed and ready for the monsters, marched across to the teak, glancing fearfully around, expectant of green blazing eyes and awful coiling shapes; quite fearless all the time, and aware that there was nothing. They had to pull up the poles to get the awning down. On returning to the stockade, the gate was padlocked and the bed finished. The lantern, in which a fresh candle had been placed, was hung to a cord from the ceiling, but they found it much in the way. “If there’s an alarm in the night,” said Mark, “and anybody jumps up quick, he’ll hit his head against the lantern. Let’s put it on the box.” “Chest,” said Bevis; “it’s always chest.” Mark dragged the chest to the bed-side, and put the lantern on it, and a box of matches handy. The matchlock was hung up; the teapot and mugs and things put away, and the spear and bow and knobstick arranged for instant use. Bevis let down the carpet at the doorway, and it shut out the moonlight like a curtain. They took off their boots and got on the bed with their clothes on. Just as Bevis was about to blow out the candle, he remembered something. “Mark--Lieutenant, how’s the barometer?” “Went down in the ship, sir.” “How’s the weather then? Look out and see if a tornado’s brewing.” “Ay, ay, sir.”