The current was not all that Stew had hoped for. It carried them along at no more than two miles an hour. And the distance was far greater than they had imagined. For several hours they were obliged to paddle beneath hot, tropical skies. Finally, when the sun had gone to rest and the moon had taken up its watch, they found themselves listening to the easy wash of the surf against the mysterious shore. As they came close it seemed that the island’s one mountain leaned over like a vast giant for a look at them. “Be just our luck to land close to a native village.” Stew shuddered as they neared the shadowy shores. The moon still was low. “They might have chickens,” Jack suggested. “I’ll be content with emergency rations,” Stew decided. Once Stew imagined that he caught a glimpse of a flicker of light along the shore. “Cannibals,” he whispered. “Might be worse.” Jack fingered his automatic. “Could be Japs.” And then, a long, sweeping wave picked up their small raft with startling suddenness and they found themselves on a gravel beach. Before the next wave arrived they had dragged the raft to safety. “That’s service!” Jack exclaimed. “Now let’s have a look.” He snapped on a small flashlight. They discovered the beach to be very narrow. Back of it were tumbled piles of massive rocks, and behind these, a solid, stone wall. “Look!” Stew pointed to tangled masses of logs, seaweed, and broken palms that lay on the rocks far above their heads. “Some storm to do that!” “Yes, and another storm may do the same to us. We’d better ramble.” To the right the beach ended abruptly in a stone wall, but to the left it broadened. Tramping over the rocks for a quarter of a mile, they came at last to a spot where the land sloped away, offering enough soil to support coconut palms and other tropical trees. “This will do,” Jack decided. Climbing up the slope, Stew gathered ripe coconuts from the ground. After striking off the husks, he bored holes through the eyes with his sheath knife and drank the milk. “Um-m-m!” he breathed. “Not bad.” When they had drained four coconuts dry, they turned their attention to other matters. They broke open their rations and ate sparingly. They cracked a coconut and ate its meat. Then they stretched out side by side on the rubber raft, pillowed their heads against the round outside, drew a mosquito-bar canopy over themselves, and lay there looking at the stars. “If we were on the shore of Lake Superior,” Jack sighed, “I could like this for a long time.” “I suppose it’s great,” said Stew. “I’ve never been there.” “Great’s the word, all right!” Jack became enthusiastic. “We used to have a regular gang, half a dozen fellows and more girls. Campfire parties, canoeing in the moonlight, sings—all that....” His voice trailed off. Then, “Patsy was up there once.” “Who’s Patsy?” Stew asked. “Just a girl I used to know. We grew up together.” “Uh-huh,” Stew drawled.