He rose to his feet.
"Where are they?"
"Back here on the beach—hush—don't talk so loud! They're suspicious looking enough."
When they reached the edge of the grove, the three figures had walked up the beach. They looked very black in the golden-lit patch of sands. Then, rounding the little cliff to the east and turning south, they disappeared.
"They re after that treasure, Ben, sure as shootin'."
"What makes you think that?"
"The tall dark man had a roll of canvas with him, and on its back were lines just like those on the stone up there."
Ben looked at her in alarm. Was the island haunted after all? Was it casting its spell on her level little head?
"Are you dreaming, Sally, or am I?"
"No, honestly—Ben—it's every word true—see that's how they came."
He hadn't noticed the black yacht before.
However, breakfast was a first law of nature, so very soon a fire snapped its rosy fingers on the beach, and Spanish Dick concocted some pretty strong coffee, Ben toasting some crackers brought from the ship the night before. For tidbits they had the wings and legs of the wild bird left over from supper and, as a special appetizer, bananas gathered from the first terrace.
Out on the waters they saw a boat put off from the North Star. The crew rowed hurriedly to the yacht, and a man, evidently Cap'n Brent, climbed the ladder. He remained on
