“What puzzles me,” Dave said, “is why are they stopping here so long? Evidently they haven’t found the platinum, or we shouldn’t see their heels for dust. They must have made a fairly good search on the _Hatteras_ by now.” “Surely!” Tempest agreed. “But Flagg must still have some hope, or he would have cleared out. The trouble is that we shall lose the game altogether if they do happen to strike the stuff while they are holding us off, for then they can put up their sails and leave us guessing worse than ever.” “The sooner we take a hand, the better, then,” Dave said. “What about making another attempt to come to terms with the old villain?” “It’s worth trying,” said Tempest. “At least we couldn’t lose anything. Let’s hold a council of war. Jim, we want to have a little pow-wow with that nice kind gentleman down there with the pop-gun, but he’s got a horrid temper, and he might forget himself and start shooting if he saw any of us. We won’t trust him any more than he trusts us. What do you suggest?” Jim looked down thoughtfully at the scene below for a while. “Um talk with Meester Flagg and no shooting, eh?” he said at last. “You’ve got the idea,” said Tempest, encouragingly. “Jim fix um up,” he declared. “You come half-way down hill and wait.” “Don’t you do anything rash, now,” Tempest said. “We don’t want to have him taking potshots at you.” The Kanaka grinned, which was the nearest he ever came to actually laughing. Without another word he began the descent, the others following. When they had gone within a hundred yards of the edge of the trees near the _Hatteras_, he motioned them to stop, and then he crept forward alone. While still hidden by the bushes he uttered a peculiar call, evidently intended to attract the attention of the other Kanakas. There was no response the first time, and Jim repeated the cry. This time an answer reached them faintly through the trees. Jim began to speak in his native tongue. The sounds were meaningless to Dave and Tempest, who could only listen and wonder. After a while Jim came back toward them and beckoned. “Meester Flagg stand ashore without gun and talk if you no go too close,” he reported. “If you go close, he’ll grab gun and shoot.” “Very amiable of him, I’m sure,” Tempest said, as they went down to the beach. “I take my hat off to you, Jim, all the same.” Flagg had come off the _Firefly_ in a dory, near which he was standing. Evidently the rifle was lying in the boat ready for any emergency. “You’re looking well this morning,” Tempest greeted him. “Evidently this climate agrees with you.” “I’ve no time for fool talk,” the other jerked back. “What have you got to say to me?” “We just thought we should like to know how you are progressing.” “That’s my business,” Flagg snapped.