"If we belonged to the navy we might be able to read the message," said Owen as he stared at the flags, "but as it is, we can't. I fancy we should do well to sit quietly where we are and take no notice. You see, they know that we are ashore, for they will have seen the boat attacked and the men in her killed. They will guess that we have kept out of the way, and common sense will tell them that we shall make an effort to get away from Sumatra. That being so, we can safely leave the signal unanswered. Take note of that little native vessel over there, Jack." It was his turn to point, and he did so at the very craft which had left the shore below, her hands having dragged the ship's boat on to the sand after killing her crew. "She is the one to suit us. She has one sail, as you can see for yourself, and there are barely a dozen men aboard her." Jack sat up on his elbow and stared at his friend as if he could barely believe his ears. Then he scrambled on to hands and knees and crawled close up to him. "What game are you after?" he asked in a whisper, as if he feared that the enemy below would hear. "You don't intend to make a dash,--by George! if you do, I'm with you. I don't care if you don't explain. If you think that that will help us, why, I'm in with you and will help all I know." "Dinner," said Owen with a laugh. "Can you eat anything now? I'm as hungry as a hunter. We'll sit here, and watch the boats as we eat. That's grand, Mulha." He smiled in Jack's face, refusing to answer one of his questions, for as yet his plans were not matured. He had an idea, that was all, and he meant to ponder on it for a time. The sergeant had taught him to think where there was time to do so, before taking action, to look, in fact, before making a leap; and in such a serious position as this was he determined to do nothing that was rash or would lead to disaster. It was, therefore, with a light-hearted laugh that he turned to Mulha as the native came towards them, and eagerly looked at the food he brought with him. This native seemed to have a thousand virtues, and one of those was concerned with the art of cooking. He had retired to the forest, some hundred yards behind the spot where they were lying, and there, with the aid of flint and steel, he had soon set fire to a handful of brittle wood. Dried sticks piled on that had soon burst into flame, and within a few minutes the good fellow had had a couple of fine steaks, cut from the deer, skewered on his ramrod and frizzling over the embers. And now he brought the meal, on a fresh palm-leaf, smoking and hot, and wonderfully appetising. Then he had filled Owen's flask with water, and had not forgotten to bring a bunch of bananas. Our hero's mouth watered, for the unwonted exercise, the excitement of their hunting adventures, and of the scene which they had been watching, had given him a healthy appetite. Even Jack was so far recovered by the rest as to declare himself ready.