Frank had turned the wheel over to Bluff, and was conning his charts, with Jerry bending over his shoulder.

“There’s where we are right now.  Looking along the shore, you can see where a key offers the same sort of refuge we enjoyed last night.  In cruising along this coast, it’s the only thing to do—­run behind one of those islands each night.  Only big boats anchor off shore.  It’s too dangerous for little craft, for a storm is liable to spring up during the night.”

In this way Frank went on.  They decided that since there seemed to be several possible havens ahead, they had better keep right on until the day waned, or they found themselves forced by a change in the weather to seek shelter.

Jerry had a line trailing astern, with a hook at the end, to which he had attached a bit of white rag.  In less than ten minutes after he threw it out he pulled in a gamy fish that might have weighed a couple of pounds.

“A cavalli,” said Joe; and they were glad indeed to have a native along who could post them on such things as might have puzzled them.

“Good to eat, is it?” asked Jerry, eyeing the forked tail, which, in this fish, resembles that of the Spanish mackerel.

“Fine.  Not so good as pompano, but better than bonita,” was Joe’s verdict.

“All right.  He looks good to me,” said Bluff.  “Do it some more, Jerry.  We need a couple more to make good all around.”

“Now, talk to me about that, will you!  Listen to how the greedy fellow gauges everybody’s appetite by his own voracious longings.”

But in spite of his talk, Jerry, being a sportsman to his finger-tips, as he was fond of saying, was only too glad to make a second trial.

This time he had hardly half of his line out when there was a sudden vicious jerk.

“Wow!  Nearly took a finger off then!  Look at the line whizz, will you?  Must have struck a whale!” he cried.  But, after all, it was another cavalli (sometimes called crevalle), and not much larger than the first.

So the sport went on until he had brought five to the boat, when he gave up.

“Too hard on the fingers, boys.  You see, we’re spinning along at a lively clip, and a two-pound fish feels like a ton.  I’m all in,” he explained.

“Well, we want to keep the fish until evening.  Will, here, is dying to clean them for us,” said Frank.

“No! no!  That is my part of the work!” exclaimed Joe, nor would he hear of anything else.

Noon came and went.  Their progress was altogether satisfactory.  All of them admitted that outside of that one puzzling breakdown, the motor was working like a charm.  It was indeed a pleasure to lie around and see the green waves flashing past, with the picturesque shore only a mile or so away.

Finally Frank announced that he had discovered the island for which he was aiming.  They had made a splendid day’s showing, and logged more than thirty miles, against a head wind and sea.