He grinned. "She's an amazing person, isn't she? Wonderful faculty for sizing the most of us up."

"You would have run?"

"Like a rabbit," he answered, unabashed. "That's a little too tight, I think, Miss Clinton. Would you mind loosening it up a bit?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is that better? Now the other one, please."

"Yes, I'm an awful coward," he said, after a long silence.

She looked up quickly. Something in his eyes brought a faint flush to her cheek. For a second or two she met his gaze steadily and then her eyes fell, but not before he had caught the shy, wondering expression that suddenly filled them. He experienced an almost uncontrollable desire to lay his clumsy hand upon the soft, smooth brown hair. Through his mind flashed a queer rush of comparison. He recalled the dark, knowing eyes of the Russian dancer, mysterious and seductive,--man-reading eyes from which nothing was concealed,--and contrasted them with the clear, honest, blue-grey orbs that still could fall in sweet confusion. His heart began to pound furiously, he felt a queer tightening of the throat. He was afraid to trust his voice. How white and soft and gentle were her hands,--and how beautiful they were.

Suddenly she stroked the bandaged hand,--as an amiable manicurist might have done--and arose.

"There!" she said, composedly. Her cheek was cool and unflushed, her eyes serene and smiling. "Now you may go, Mr. Percival. Good luck! Bring back good news to us. I dreamed last night that we were marooned, that we would have to stay here for ever."

"All of us?" he asked, a trifle thickly.

"Certainly," she replied, after the moment required for comprehension.

Her eyes were suddenly cold and uncompromising.

"If I never come back," he began, somewhat dashed, "I'd like you to remember always, Miss Clinton, that I--well, that I am the most grateful dog alive. You've been corking."

"But it isn't possible you won't come back," she cried, and he was happy to see a flicker of alarm in her eyes. "What--what could happen to you?

It isn't--"

"Oh, all sorts of things," he broke in, much in the same spirit as that which dominates the boy who wishes he could die in order to punish his parents for correcting him.

"Are--are you really in earnest?"

"Would you care--very much?"

She hesitated. "Haven't I wished you good luck, Mr. Percival?"

"Would you mind answering my question?"

"Of course I should care,--very much indeed," she replied calmly. "I am sure that everybody would be terribly grieved if anything were to happen to you out there."

"Well,--good-bye, Miss Clinton. I guess they're waiting for me."

"Good-bye! Oh, how I wish I were in your place! Just to put my foot on the blessed, green earth once more. Good-bye! And--and good luck, again."

"If you will take a pair of gla.s.ses and watch the top of that hill,--there is a bare k.n.o.b up there, you see,--you will know long before we come back whether this island is inhabited or not. I am taking an American flag with me. If we do not see another flag floating anywhere on this island, I intend to plant the Stars and Stripes on that hill,--just for luck!"

She walked a few steps at his side, their bodies aslant against the slope of the deck.

"And if you do not raise the flag, we shall know at once that--that there are other people here?" she said, her voice eager with suppressed excitement. "It will mean that ships--" Her voice failed her.

"It will mean home,--some day," he returned solemnly.

The one remaining port-side boat was lowered a few minutes later and to the accompaniment of cheers from the throng that lined the rails, the men pulled away, heading for a tiny cove on the far side of the basin. The sh.o.r.e at that point was sloping and practically clear of undergrowth.

It was while Percival was waiting to take his place in the boat that Olga Obosky hurried up to him.

"I have brought my luck piece for you," she said, and revealed in her open palm a small gold coin, worn smooth with age and handling.

"Carry it, my friend. Nothing will happen to you while it is in your possession. It was given me by the son of a Grand Duke. It was his lucky piece. It brought me luck, for he was killed zat very same day, and so I was saved from him. Keep it in your pocket till you come safely back and then--then you shall return it to me, because I would not be without my luck, no." She slipped her hand deep into his trousers pocket. "There is no hole. That is good. I have place it there. It is safe. Au revoir! You will have good luck, my friend."

Withdrawing her warm hand from his pocket she turned and walked swiftly away.

The throng on board the Doraine watched the party land; hats and handkerchiefs were waved as the adventurers turned for a last look behind, before they disappeared into the forest.

Hours pa.s.sed,--long interminable hours for those who were not engaged in the active preparations for the landing of people and stores. Captain Trigger was making ready to transfer the pa.s.sengers from the ship at the earliest possible moment. He was far from certain that the Doraine would maintain its rather precarious balance on the rocks. With safety not much more than a stone's throw away, he was determined to take no further risk.

At last a shout went up from some one on the forecastle deck. It was taken up by eager voices. Out upon the bald crest of the mountain straggled the first of the explorers to reach the goal. They were plainly visible. One after another the rest of the party appeared. The illusion was startling. It was as if they had actually emerged from the tree-tops. With straining eyes the observers below watched the group of figures outlined against the sky. They spoke in subdued tones. As time went on and the flag was not unfurled, they took hope; eyes brightened, the hushed tones increased to a cheerful, excited clatter, the tenseness that had held them rigid for so long gave way before the growing conviction that another flag already fluttered somewhere beyond the screening hills.

And then, when hope was highest, the Stars and Stripes went up!

Captain Trigger a.s.sembled the ship's company on the forward deck later in the day. The landing party returned about three o'clock. Acting on advance instructions, they made their report in private to the Captain, denying all information to the clamorous pa.s.sengers. A brief conference of officers, to which a number of men from the first cabin were invited, was held immediately after Percival's return. A course of action was discussed and agreed upon, and then all on board were summoned to the open deck to hear the result of the expedition.

Percival reported the following facts and conclusions:

1. The island was approximately fifteen miles long and six or seven miles wide in the centre. The basin in which the Doraine rested was about midway between the extreme points, and about two miles inland from the northern sh.o.r.e. The southern slope of the range descended to a flat plain, or perhaps moor, some two miles across at its broadest point and ran in varying width from one end of the island to the other. It was green and almost entirely devoid of timber. The central eminence from which the observations were taken was the loftiest of a range of ten or twelve diminishing hills that formed what might actually be described as the backbone of the island. The eastern extremity tapered off to a long, level, low-lying promontory that ended in a point so sharp and wedge-like that it bore a singular resemblance to the forward deck and prow of a huge ironclad. The hills, as they approached the plateau, terminated altogether a couple of miles from the tip of land. The western half of the island (strictly speaking, it was a separate bit of land, cut off from its neighbour by the ribbon-like channel), was of a more rugged character, the hills, in fact, extending to the sea, forming, no doubt, steep and precipitous cliffs, rising directly from the water's edge.

(Since his return, Percival had painted on a large piece of canvas a fairly accurate outline map of the bisected island as it had appeared to him from the top of the mountain. This crude map was hung up in full view of the spectators, and served him well in an effort to make clear his deductions. His original sketch is reproduced later on in this chronicle.)

2. There was no visible sign of past or present human habitation.

Absolutely nothing appeared to indicate that man had ever attempted to claim or occupy this virgin land.

3. The channel through the mountain was less than one hundred feet wide.

The walls of this gorge at one point were fully seven hundred feet high, absolutely perpendicular, and of solid rock. It was as if the hill had been split wide open with one blow of a tremendous broad-ax. Beyond the elevation the channel spread out fan-fashion, creating a funnel-like bay or inlet from the sea.

4. There was no other land in sight. As far as the eye could reach with the aid of lenses there was nothing but water, a mighty waste of water.

5. The wind, which had veered around to the south, was cold and dry.

6. A curving beach of almost snowy whiteness extended for a mile or so along the northern sh.o.r.e, about half way between the entrance to the channel and the eastern point of land. Inside the fringe of trees that lined this beach stretched what appeared to be a long strip of rolling meadow-land, reaching far up the hillsides.

7. Monkeys, parrots and snakes abounded in the forest. An occasional gay-plumaged bird of the toucan variety, but larger than the ordinary South American species, was seen, while large numbers of plump birds of the tinamou family went drumming off through the forest at the approach of the party. Penguins strutted in complete "full dress" among the rocks of the southern sh.o.r.e. A dead armadillo of extraordinary dimensions was found near the foot of the slope. It was at least thrice the size of the common South American mammal. The same could be said of the single iguana encountered. This large lizard, which was alive, must have been fully ten feet from head to tail, and gave rise to the belief that the supposedly extinct iguanodon, described by the scientists as attaining a length of thirty feet, might any day be discovered in the fastnesses of this unexplored land. The mere existence of this rather amiable, unfrightened monster was of the greatest significance. If it were known to man, why had it never been reported in zoological or natural history journals?

8. The trees on the mountain-side were thick and stunted, with interlocking limbs that created a sort of endless canopy which the sun was unable to penetrate. The cool, dry wind that swept the slope would account, however, for the surprising absence of moisture in soil and vegetation in the dense shade of the trees. Oak, elm, spruce, even walnut, and other trees of a st.u.r.dy character indigenous to the temperate zone were identified. What appeared to be a clump of cypress trees, fantastic, misshapen objects that seemed to, shrink back in terror from the a.s.saulting breakers, stood out in bold relief upon a rocky point to the south and west of the observation hill. Their gaunt, twisted trunks leaned backward from the sea; their shorn limbs, racked by gales, were raised as if in supplication to the sombre forest behind them. Trunks of enormous trees that had fallen perhaps a century ago were found half-buried in the earth, while scattered along the northern base of the range, overlooking the downs, a few of their gigantic counterparts, alive and flourishing, raised their lofty heads far above the surrounding forest, and stood like sentinels, guarding the plain.

9. A small river wound its devious way, with serpentine crooks and curves, through the downs and across the meadow, emptying into the ocean some distance east of the gleaming beach. That its source was far up in the secretive hills was not a matter of conjecture, however; the incessant hiss and roar of a cataract was plainly heard by the investigators.

Here is the crude, hastily sketched map of the island as made by Percival:

1. Position of stranded vessel in basin.

2. Entrance to channel from the north.