mate quietly. "I'll
handle the gun. With a 'pom-pom' gun it's just like playing a
garden hose on them, only it's high-explosive shell instead of
water. I can search out every nook and cranny in the coast of
this island. Those guns are sighted up to 4,000 yards."

"Kill 'em all," raved McGuffey, "kill all the blasted niggers."

When Mr. Gibney fell under the impact of the earthenware pot he
was only partially stunned. As he tried to struggle to his feet
half a dozen hands were laid on him and in a trice he was lifted
and carried back of the wari to a clear space where a dozen heavy
teakwood posts stood in a row about four feet apart. Mr. Gibney
was quickly stripped of his clothing and bound hand and foot to
one of these posts. Three minutes later another delegation of
cannibals arrived, bearing the limp, naked body of Captain
Scraggs, whom they bound in similar fashion to the post beside
Mr. Gibney. Scraggs was very white and bloody, but conscious, and
his pale-blue eyes were flickering like a snake's.

"What's--what's--the meanin' of this, Gib?" he gasped.

"It means," replied the commodore, "that it's all off but the
shouting with me and you, Scraggsy. This fellow Tabu-Tabu is a
damned traitor, and his people are still cannibals. He's the
decoy to get white men ashore. They schemed to treat us nice and
be friendly until they could get the whole crew ashore, or enough
of them to leave the ship helpless, and then--O Gawd, Scraggsy,
old man, can you ever forgive me for gettin' you into this?"

Captain Scraggs hung his head and quivered like a hooked fish.

"Will they--eat--us?" he quavered, finally.

Mr. Gibney did not answer, only Captain Scraggs looked into his
horrified eyes and read the verdict.

"Die game, Scraggsy," was all Mr. Gibney could say. "Don't show
the white feather."

"D'ye think McGuffey could hear us from here if we was to yell
for help?" inquired Captain Scraggs hopefully.

"Don't yelp, for Gawd's sake," implored Mr. Gibney. "We got
ourselves into this, so let's pay the fiddler ourselves. If we
let out one yip and McGuffey hears it, he'll come ashore with his
crew and tackle this outfit, even if he knows he'll get killed.
And that's just what will happen to him if he comes. Let poor Mac
stay aboard. When we don't come back, he'll know it's all off,
and if he has time to think over it he'll realize it would be
foolish to try to do anything. But right now Mac's mad as a wet
hen, and if we ho