A REMARKABLE SCENE
"Well, this is queer."
Dave Fearless looked curious and acted as if startled. By the time he
had got near to the ledge where he had seen the mysterious signal,
daylight had come.
Long since that illumination had been discontinued. Dave had paused
with due caution as he approached its cause. He had lurked behind a big
rock fronting the shelf of stone.
No other sound or presence was indicated, and after a spell of
watchfulness Dave decided to approach closer. It was as he peered
around the edge of a cavelike opening fronting the ravine that he
uttered the words:
"Well, this is queer."
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 appetite
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 circumstance 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 shells. 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."
Dave got behind an obscure rock. From there he peered intently at the
two men who now entered the cave; the one crawling on his hands and
knees, the other maintaining still his lofty bearing of superiority.
Reaching the mat, the guide arose to his feet. He showed the greatest
humility and respect in all that he did.
He made a gesture to have his visitor sit down to the feast. The latter
shook his head in great disdain.
Then the evident resident of the cave groaned and wept and rolled all
over on the ground as if in the deepest despair. In a mournful
sing-song voice he seemed to make an appeal to his august visitor to
grant some prayer.
The priest finally stamped his foot and spoke some quick words. The
other arose. The priest, fixing a menacing eye upon him, advanced, and
putting out a hand, tried to pull aside the garment which the man wore
on the upper part of his body.
The poor wretch seemed frantic. He clung close to the garment, seeming
especially anxious not to expose his back or shoulders.
The priest, however, managed to tear the front of the garment open.
Then Dave half understood the situation from something he remembered to
have heard Stoodles tell about on a previous occasion.
A peculiar mark, a circle inclosing a cross, was visible on the chest of
the suppliant.
"I know what that means," mused Dave. "They brand their criminals, drive
them away, and if they ever approach the tribe again, they burn them
alive. That is the outcast brand. Stoodles told me so when he was on
this island with me."
The refugee cowered with shame. Then he kicked aside some of the dishes
of the feast which his august visitor had spurned.
"I'm glad of that," thought Dave. "Now he won't be likely to notice
that I have been trespassing."
The outcast went to a sort of shelf in the cave. He came back, poising
a small earthen crock in his hand.
He began a quick talk to the priest in a louder, more assured tone. The
latter suddenly changed his manner. His eyes sparkled. He looked eager
and excited.
The outcast seemed to be giving a most glowing description of the
contents of the little crock. Dave tried to follow his meaning.
"He is saying," translated Dave to himself, "that he has great
quantities of whatever the crock contains--lots of it, heaps of it--I
see. Now he has interested the priest. He is offering to buy his
citizenship back into the tribe, that looks sure. Ah, he is showing
what he has in the crock. Gracious!"
Dave forgot all prudence. He was so interested that he slipped out from
hiding to gaze at the contents of the crock, now poured out rapidly by
the outcast upon the food mat.
Fortunately the two men were equally engrossed. What the outcast had
poured out of the crock were half a hundred or more pure gold coins!