That settled it. They spent the evening getting ready. They hid their anguish in a bustle of preparation. Bill scurried about and secured three clams. The unfortunate bi-valves were devoured with immoderate ferocity. Even their stiff, rubber-like necks afforded grist for the mill of Van Wyck's teeth. It grieved Bill to see the shells go to waste. They sat down and congratulated themselves for the first time in a week. The clams seemed to make their situation less hopeless, but they did not on that account decide to remain on the island. Their thirst was abnormal and monstrous. It was not a thing to be talked about. * * * * * They managed to get some sleep; but they awoke with their throats on fire. The game that they had played was over. But they avoided the thought of their new plan as much as possible, since they did not want the possibility of fatal consequences to look them in the face. A chill in the atmosphere generally preceded the customary heat of the day; and the coldness now seemed unusually severe. They got together a few sticks and built a fire. The sun had not yet risen, but the island was immersed in the ghostly gray light of early dawning. They saw everything vividly. The boulders on the beach seemed alive. A light wind furred the steel-gray sea with tiny ripples. "We mustn't waste time," said Van Wyck. It was obvious that his dread of Bill had grown in the night. Bill's threat had taken complete possession of his shriveled, selfish little brain. His teeth chattered over the fire and he planned a thousand assaults on the man beside him. His fingers clutched frantically at the knife which he kept hidden; but he lacked the stomach for malicious manslaughter. He feared that his cowardice might betray him into a false or dangerous move, and he endeavored to conquer his hysteria with loud boasts. "It was all poppycock, our worrying about the cannibals," he announced. "The thing for us to do is to put on a bold front. They'll make gods of us!" In the present condition of his mind these words produced a curious effect on Bill. He waved his arms wildly, and swore at the sky. "Yes," he shouted, "they'll do that. But sometimes they're not satisfied with a living man. They're head-hunters, you know. They have a way of removing the skull from a man's head, and drying it up, and worshiping it. They have a predilection for red hair and beards. When they find both on one head they go wild." Bill looked directly at Van Wyck. The latter could scarcely stand. He was swaying hysterically back and forth and running his fingers through his bristling red beard. "Perhaps I could shave it off before we start," he wailed. "With what?" demanded Bill. "With the clam shells," cried Van Wyck, dejectedly seeking to grasp some straw that would save his head. "I refuse to permit it," said Bill. "It's time we started. It wouldn't be pleasant to swim in the full glare of the sun."