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. “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. 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’ll hang this bunch up to ripen in the shade, and eat them as they ripen.” They drank coffee and nibbled at the chocolate. “Were those natives armed?” Stew asked.