“It _is_ the camel, Tempest. Look! Look!” Dave cried as the formation of the hill gradually resolved itself into the shape he was looking for. The resemblance was by no means perfect. Its most noticeable feature was the lump in the middle. Further behind there was a rising sweep which might roughly be spoken of as the hind quarters of the animal. The shoulders were fairly distinct, and also the rise of the neck, but there was no head. “Great guns and little fishes, Dave, but you’re right! We’re there at last. Now, where the dickens is the entrance to this lagoon? We don’t want a smash up now after all our trouble. Jim, you tinted heathen, how do you reckon we can get in?” [Illustration: LOST ISLAND] The Kanaka stood up and surveyed the reef of rocks which formed the lagoon. “Maybe p’raps over there,” he said, pointing. “Go easy.” The islander’s instinct proved right. He directed Tempest to the only channel leading into the calm water beyond the reef. “You’ve never seen this place before, I suppose, have you, Jim?” Tempest asked. The Kanaka nodded. “Never been on him though. He called Tai-o-Vai. Used to sail past sometimes long time ago.” “Tai-o-Vai, eh?” said Dave. “Why didn’t you tell us so before?” “You didn’t ask him, idiot,” laughed Tempest. “Probably he’s never seen a camel in his life, so it’s no use pulling off that stunt. Jiminy! but isn’t this one pretty lagoon?” Dave did not answer. They were just rounding a bend and the boy put one hand on Tempest’s shoulder, pointing with the other. “As I live,” Tempest exclaimed, “it’s the remains of the old _Hatteras_ after all!” The wreck lay embedded in the sand, just as the ancient mariner had described it in Brooklyn so long ago. She was not in an excellent state of preservation, but the mere sight of her gladdened the hearts of the adventurers. Tempest pulled the tiller over and turned the nose of the _Nautilus_ straight towards the remains of the old barque. They were within about four hundred yards of her when the sharp crack of a rifle echoed over the water, and a bullet skimmed the surface uncomfortably near. “Somebody is at home!” said Tempest with a puzzled expression. “I suppose that is just to show us how pleased they are to see us.” He jibed the boat, which then lay with her sails flapping. “It’s Flagg,” Dave suggested. “Dear old Joe Flagg, late of Dogtooth City,” Tempest muttered. “And he sent that bullet as a present. The old villain wasn’t drowned in that gale, Dave.” “What are you going to do now?” the boy asked. “We’re not going to turn tail at this stage.” “If Mr. Flagg imagines that one shot from a pop-gun is going to keep us off he never made a bigger mistake in his life,” Tempest said. “But as it is a question of life and death, when people are throwing lead around, we’d better come to an understanding. I know you’re no coward, Dave, but I don’t want to take chances without you agreeing. What do you say?”