jack dreamed until the sun was low; finally he heard stew giving the call of a parakeet, the signal they had agreed upon.
he squawked in answer, then gathered up his violin and went hurrying down the hill.
“what were you going to do,” stew exclaimed when they were together again, “dream up there all day and half the night?”
“not quite,” jack laughed. “but you have to take time to relax, even in war, or you’re likely to crack up.”
“you’ll never crack!” stew was tired. “look what i got for supper!” he held up his catch.
“fish! oh, boy!” jack made a brave attempt at expressing joy.
“you’d be thankful for fish,” said stew, “if you’d been through what i have!”
“what happened?” jack was curious.
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“plenty. i saw a small porker and followed him. he really looked young. but when he got all hot and bothered he turned and squealed angrily at me. and boy! his tusks seemed to be at least two feet long. i went up a tree, which was a job in itself. anyway, there was a strange bird up in that tree. i wanted to have a look at that bird,” stew ended with a drawl.
“not a rooster?” jack grinned.
“the rooster came later,” stew sighed. “he was a dandy! but he refused to be caught. so—o,” stew sighed once more, “i decided on fish for supper. and one thing more,” he grinned. “while you played the violin, i saw two huge, dark-skinned men with six-foot spears all set along the points with flying squirrels’ teeth. they were looking up at you. they didn’t spear you, did they?”
“it’s a wonder they didn’t let me have it!”
“probably thought they might injure the violin,” stew chuckled. “come on. let’s go down.”
in silence they trudged down the ridge and through the shadowy forest.
they approached their camp in the bright afterglow, and in that sudden burst of light jack thought he caught a glimpse of a figure darting into the shadows of a great mango tree. he could not be sure, so he tramped on in silence.
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“i’ll bet you were so lost in your dreams you never even heard that jet plane return,” said stew.
“that’s right. i didn’t,” jack admitted. “did it really come in?”
“it sure did. and do you know,” stew said thoughtfully, “their landing was so different from the one they made the other day that you’d have said another pilot was at the stick. he made two false landings, then zoomed up, and finally seemed to come in straight from the sea.”
“but he made it?” jack was puzzled.
“i suppose so. i didn’t see him land. he—”
“look!” stew’s voice fell to an excited whisper. “there’s a glow of coals in our fireplace!”
“can’t be!” jack was incredulous. “i remember putting the fire out.”
“it’s burning now, all right,” stew insisted.
and so it was. there was a fire, and something more, besides.
when the boys reached the spot they stood gazing in speechless astonishment, for there, held over the fire by an impromptu spit of teakwood, was a roast of pork loin, done to a delicious brown and sizzling in its own fat. beside it, kept warm on a rack close to the fire, was a stack of brown cakes.
“brownies,” jack whispered.
“dark brownies. natives,” stew murmured.
“brownies, all the same!” jack insisted.
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stew tossed his catch upon a rock. “how’d you like to wait until tomorrow for your fish?”
“suits me,” said jack.
the fish did wait, and the two boys sat down to enjoy a feast such as they had not eaten in months.
“do you know, stew,” jack said as he reclined against a rock, with the blue-black sea before him, “i think we picked the wrong party to help us get off this island.”
“what do you mean?” stew sat up.
“those natives have some swell outrigger canoes that would take us to some other island in less than an hour,” jack confided. “i saw them. they’re really fast.”
“and then we’d just be on another island,” stew drawled. “what i want is to be sitting on the flight deck of our ship hearing the engines warming up. or i’d like to be down below where jazz music and radios make night hilarious on the old black bee.”
“all the same, i’d feel better if i were sure i could leave this island in a hurry if i needed to,” jack insisted.
“tell you what!” he sprang to his feet. “this feast of ours came from the native village. it’s a peace offering. what do you say we go and smoke a pipe of peace with them?”
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“oh-o-o no! not me!” stew did not move. “they might not be as civilized as you think. don’t forget that girl and the nurse’s costume. besides, i’ve got something else i want to do.”
“what’s that?”
“try out that radio we found on the jap raft.”
“i cranked it for an hour last night.” jack’s interest was slight. “not a peep out of it. but go ahead, try it.”
“sure i’ll try it.” stew walked away. “give my regards to that head-hunter’s queen,” he added, with a low laugh. “she’s a regular pin-up girl, don’t you think? tell her to put a ring in her nose and i’ll take her picture.”
jack joined in the laugh. then, after tucking his violin under his arm, he trudged away into the dark forest and over the trail leading to the village.
guided by his pinpoint flashlight he followed the leafy trail, where his steps made no sound, and listened to the croak of a great frog that seemed to say, “why? why?” he dropped down into a valley, where some startled porkers went snorting away, then climbed again to cross the ridge and come down on the other side.
“spooky business, following these trails at night,” he told himself. “anything might happen.”
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when he found himself close to the native village, he went on tiptoe until the light of their campfire, burned down to a dull glow, was practically in his eyes.
no feast now. it was too late for that. the natives were seated in a half circle. close by the fire sat a stout young hunter. his fine brown face, with its gleaming white teeth, was a study. he was smiling broadly as jokes were passed back and forth. before him lay a freshly killed pig. he had returned late from the hunt, no doubt, and was recounting his adventures. the others with one exception appeared happy. the tall, slim girl sat by herself. on her face was a look of loneliness, perhaps of sadness. the people were talking in their strange native tongue. the girl did not speak at all.
then jack did something that even to him seemed strange. slipping silently through the brush, he came close to the girl and, more than half in shadow, unnoticed, took a seat beside her.
at that same moment, two hundred miles away, kentucky, blackie, and red were out over the sea in their planes. having obtained permission to conduct a night search for their lost comrade ted, they were on their way. talking over a radio of very low power that was not likely to be picked up at any distance greater than 300 miles, blackie was saying to the others:
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“just about ten seconds more and we should be near the spot.”
“twenty or twenty-five is my guess,” said kentucky.
“be great stuff if ted were still on his plane there in the water and picked us up on the radio,” red suggested.
“no chance.” kentucky’s voice was low. “he’s lucky if he’s got his rubber raft.”
ted did not hear them, but someone else, vastly excited, did.
“got ’em!” stew, on the island, tinkering with the jap radio, cranked furiously as he murmured. “now if only i can make them hear me.
“kentuck—kentucky!” he called into the small mike. “this is stew. do you get me? stew. come in!”
kentucky did not come in. he kept right on with what he was doing. stew could hear the three of them talking, heard red say, “i think i see a light off to the right.”
“you sure?” was kentucky’s excited answer. “don’t lose it. that may be ted.”
“it’s sure to be ted,” blackie broke in. “don’t lose it.”
just then stew’s jap radio took on a sudden burst of power to break through space and fall on kentucky’s ears:
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“kentuck! this is stew! come in, kentucky!”
kentucky heard, and sat up quickly.
“stew! where are you?” kentucky came back in a steady drawl. “where’s jack?”
“we—well, you might say we’re back in the old home town.” stew made up a code as he went along. he didn’t want those fellows on the jet plane to understand, nor some prowling japs, either. “remember those three houses? do you get me?”
“maybe i do,” kentucky growled. “continue.”
“well, i live in the biggest house—the middle one—three stories—get me?”
“i get you.” kentucky thought he understood that stew was talking of three islands.
“jack is with me,” stew went on. “our room is in the southwest corner. see?”
“i get you,” kentucky came back again. “all okay?”
“yes. only we miss our boat. we—” just then stew heard blackie break in. “kentucky, there is a light. must be ted. i’m putting on my landing lights. going down.”
“we’ll be right over you,” kentucky assured him.
stew understood it all, and was silent, even at a time when he wanted terribly to talk. and so, as he listened, the minutes ticked themselves away, and once again his radio went dead. far away, kentucky was thinking, “i wish stew had talked straight. i think he meant he was on the biggest of those three islands, and on this end of it. but how’s a fellow to be sure?”
