“A pretty spot, gentlemen,” he said, scanning the island closely.  “I don’t think that there is anybody on it.”

“We’ll go over it first and make sure,” said Stobell, as the boat’s nose ran into the beach.  “Come along, Chalk.”

He sprang out and, taking one of the guns, led the way along the beach, followed by Mr. Chalk.  The men looked after them longingly, and then, in obedience to the mate, took the stores out of the boat and pitched the tent.  By the time Chalk and Stobell returned they were seated in the boat and ready to depart.

A feeling of loneliness came over Mr. Chalk as he watched the receding boat.  The schooner, riding at anchor half a mile outside the reef, had taken in her sails and presented a singularly naked and desolate appearance.  He wondered how long it would take the devoted Brisket to send assistance in case of need, and blamed himself severely for not having brought some rockets for signalling purposes.  Long before night came the prospect of sleeping ashore had lost all its charm.

“One of us ought to keep watch,” he said, as Stobell, after a heavy supper followed by a satisfying pipe, rolled himself in a blanket and composed himself for slumber.

Mr. Stobell grunted, and in a few minutes was fast asleep.  Mr. Tredgold, first blowing out the candle, followed suit, while Mr. Chalk, a prey to vague fears, sat up nursing a huge revolver.

The novelty of the position, the melancholy beat of the surge on the farther beach, and faint, uncertain noises all around kept him awake.  He fancied that he heard stealthy footsteps on the beach, and low, guttural voices calling among the palms.  Twice he aroused his friends and twice they sat up and reviled him.

“If you put your bony finger into my ribs again,” growled Mr. Stobell, tenderly rubbing the afflicted part, “you and me won’t talk alike.  Like a bar of iron it was.”

“I thought I heard something,” said Mr. Chalk.  “I should have fired, only I was afraid of scaring you.”

“Fired?” repeated Mr. Stobell, thoughtfully. “Fired? Was it the barrel of that infernal pistol you shoved into my ribs just now?”

“I just touched you with it,” admitted the other.  “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Mr. Stobell, feeling in his pocket, struck a match and held it up.  “Full cock,” he said, in a broken voice;” and he stirred me up with it.  And then he talks of savages!”

He struck another match and lit the candle, and then, before Mr. Chalk could guess his intentions, pressed him backwards and took the pistol away.  He raised the canvas and threw it out into the night, and then, remembering the guns, threw them after it.  This done he blew out the candle, and in two minutes was fast asleep again.

An hour passed and Mr. Chalk, despite his fears, began to nod.  Half asleep, he lay down and drew his blanket about him, and then he sat up suddenly wide awake as an unmistakable footstep sounded outside.