, trimming it for
maximum efficiency. Presently the Hindu boy came back to the tiller and
sat down near Rick.

Shan's volcanic cone blotted out the stars ahead. There were no lights
of any kind on the mountain itself, and the number of lights in the
village was gradually diminishing.

The water splashed a little under the rudder, and the cordage holding
the mast and sail creaked as a vagrant breeze caught the vinta.
Otherwise, there was no sound. Once a fish jumped nearby, and Rick was
halfway to his feet, hand going to the pistol at his belt, before he
realized what it was. He smiled at his own tenseness.

Rick wiped moist palms on the thighs of his tight pants and strained to
see the first sign of the beach on which he and Chahda would land.
Chahda, according to plan, moved to the bow of the Moro craft in order
to keep a lookout.

The timing was all right, Rick thought. There were still lights in the
village, but not many. Early, when too many pirates were out of doors,
would not be a good time. Later, when perhaps only guards were moving
around, would be even worse. They had tried to time their reconnaissance
for an in-between period, and it looked as though the selection of the
hour was good. Most villagers were in bed, but enough kerosene lamps and
candles burned to show that the two of them probably would not attract
special attention by being out so late.

Chahda came back and whispered, "We drop sail now."

"Okay." Rick was careful to keep his voice at a whisper. He knew sound
carried across the water.

The boys let the sail down and lashed it just enough to keep a sudden
breeze from tangling the lines, then took paddles and steered for the
small crescent of beach that made a light streak between the sea and the
black rock of the volcano. The lights of the village were gradually lost
as the jutting rock between the beach and the western land slope blocked
their view.

Rick and Chahda timed their paddle strokes to catch a low wave as it
sped to shore, and in a moment the vinta's bow grated on sand. Chahda
jumped to shore, carrying the craft's anchor--a block of stone with a
hole in it for the rope--and hauled the vinta's bow up on dry coral
sand. Rick stepped to the sand and paused, ears tuned for any unusual
noise. He heard nothing except the sharp barking of a dog in the
village.

"If this is like most Asiatic villages, there'll be enough mutts to make
it a dog catcher's paradise," he whispered in C