Part 22 (1/2)

The cave extended back into the hill a long way. Dave could decide this by the shadows cast by a light that burned about fifteen feet from its opening. A rude earthen pot of native construction was filled with some kind of oil. A wick, made out of some fibrous plant, burned within it.

This light illuminated a long broad piece of matting laid across the floor of the cave. As Dave examined the various articles spread out on this mat, he was filled with amazement.

There were all kinds of dishes, such as Dave had seen in the homes of the Windjammers. These were made of thin bark and decorated with figures of flowers and birds outlined in berry stains.

”The wonder of it all, though,” said Dave; ”food, and such food--all kinds.”

In the dishes were berries and other fruits, a kind of tapioca bread also. Then there were meats, all cooked and cold, and some fish the same. There were also two quite tastefully made bowls filled with a clear white liquid that Dave took to be cocoanut milk.

Dave watched for a long time. The display tempted his appet.i.te prodigiously.

”Of course there's a proprietor for all this elegant layout,” said Dave.

”What's the occasion of it? Where is he?”

Dave sent a piece of stone rattling noisily into the cave, then a second. He waited and listened.

”I don't believe there is anyone in there,” he decided. ”I can't resist it. I don't know who this feast is spread for, but I want a share of it.”

Dave stepped forward boldly now. His audacity was increased as he made out a spear standing against a rock. Dave took the precaution to arm himself with this. Then he came still nearer to the food.

Whoever had prepared the feast was, in Dave's estimation, a most admirable cook. The various articles he sampled tasted most appetizing.

”Fine as home cooking,” said Dave, with satisfaction, stepping back from the mat. ”One man wouldn't have all that stuff for breakfast, though.

Is it some native ceremonial like Stoodles has told me about? Or does the man expect friends? That's it,” Dave reasoned it out. ”Maybe he has gone to meet them. I had better make myself scarce.”

Dave was now satisfied that he was really on the Windjammers' Island.

The articles in the cave were in a measure familiar to him. Then, too, a glance from the cliffs as he had ascended them had shown a distant coastline, suggesting precisely the spot where Captain Broadbeam, himself, and the others had been marooned.

Dave resolved to appropriate the weapon he had taken up. He started to leave the cave and retrace his steps to the beach. At the entrance he paused abruptly and started back.

”Too late,” he exclaimed; ”someone is coming.”

Dave had almost run out upon two men. A curious circ.u.mstance prevented them seeing him. They were approaching from the direction opposite to that from which he himself had come in reaching the cave.

Both were natives. The minute Dave saw them he instantly recognized them as belonging to the Windjammers' tribe of which his friend Pat Stoodles had once been king.

One of them was a thin, mean-looking fellow, scrawny and wild-eyed. He was creeping on hands and knees along the path. His pose and manner suggested the utmost humility.

The other was a man gayly decked out. He wore a richly embroidered skin across his shoulders and a necklace of gaudy sh.e.l.ls. He had a kind of mace in his hand. The lordly manner in which he carried his head indicated extreme pride and importance.

”Why,” said Dave, backing into the gloomy depths of the cave, ”that is the same dress the man wore who was the great priest of the tribe when I was on the Windjammers' Island the first time.”

There seemed to be no doubt but that Dave was back on the old stamping-ground of Pat Stoodles. He was not at all sorry for this. It was the destination of the _Swallow_. Perhaps the steamer had already reached it.

”Things are working easier for me than I had any right to expect,”

reflected Dave, ”only I must keep out of the clutches of any of the natives till I locate my friends.”