The skipper moved off directly, and Poole, before starting off in the indicated direction, whispered to Fitz-- "You can have another snooze till I come back." "Thank you; but I am going along with you." Quite willing to accept his companionship, Poole led the way slowly and cautiously; but at the end of a few yards he stopped short. "What's the matter?" whispered Fitz. "Nothing yet; but I was just thinking. Is there any password?" "I dunno," whispered Fitz. "I didn't ask father, and it would be rather awkward if we were challenged and shot at." "Oh, there's no fear of that. You'd know by the voice which of the men it was who spoke, and he'd know yours when you answered." "To be sure. False alarm. Come on." It seemed darker than ever as they went forward on what seemed to be the track, but proved to be off it, for all at once as they were going cautiously on, literally feeling their way, Poole caught his foot against a stump and nearly fell headlong. "Bother!" he ejaculated loudly, to add to the noise he made, and instantly a gruff voice from their right growled out, "Who goes there?" accompanying the question with a clicking of a rifle-lock. "Friends," cried Fitz sharply. "The word." "_Teal_" cried Poole, as he scrambled up. "Aren't right," growled the same voice. "That you, Mr Poole?" "Oh, it's you, Chips!" cried the lad, in a tone full of relief. "Winks it is," was the reply; "but the skipper said I warn't to let anybody pass without he said Sponson." "Sponson," cried Fitz, laughing. "Ah, you know now," growled the carpenter, "because I telled you; but it don't seem right somehow. But you aren't enemies, of course." "Not much," said Poole. "Well, how are you getting on, Chips?" "Oh, tidy, sir, tidy; only it's raither dull work, and precious damp. A bit wearisome like with nothing to do but chew. Thought when I heard you that there was going to be something to warm one up a bit. Wonderful how chilly it gets before the sun's up. I should just like to have a bit of timber here, and my saw." "To let the enemy know exactly where we are?" "Ah, of course; that wouldn't do. But I always feel when I haven't got another job on the way that it's a good thing to do to cut up a bit of timber into boards." "Why?" asked Fitz, more for the sake of speaking than from any desire to know. "Plaisters, my lad." "Plaisters?" "Ay; for sore hulls. A bit of thin board's always handy off a coast where there's rocks, and there's many a time when, if the carpenter had had plenty of sticking-plaister for a vessel's skin, a good ship could have been saved from going down. Nice place this. What a spot it would have been if it had been an island and the schooner had been wrecked!" "What do you want the schooner wrecked for?" cried Poole.