"The crazy fools!" exclaimed Trask, as he saw Jarrow being hustled into the jungle by the crew. "What sort of game do you suppose this is? Have they all gone mad?"

"Mutiny!" said Marjorie. "Why should they mutiny?"

"Search me," said her father, disgustedly. "We seem to have brought a fine pack of maniacs with us."

They could see Dinshaw exploring the beach, apparently oblivious of what had happened, or careless of the quarrels which Jarrow and Peth might have, so long as he was on his beloved island.

So the watchers in the schooner gave their attention to Doc, who continued to drive the long boat ahead jerkily, working as though he expected to be pursued from ashore and prevented from gaining the Nuestra.

"What was that all about?" demanded Trask, as the steward, breathing hard and to every appearance terror-stricken, brought the long boat alongside the schooner.

"Lordy me!" he gasped, his eyes white and rolling. "They shore messed up things this yer time!" He quit sculling and stood up in the stern of the boat, allowing it to make the distance which separated it from the schooner by its own momentum.

"But what did they say?" demanded Locke.

"It's Mr. Peth," said Doc, and turning, looked ashore. "He's got the skipper up a tree. Ah tell yo' all that man Peth, he's a danger! Yassir!" He made the boat fast, and scrambled up the ladder and over the side.

"Now," said Trask, "tell us everything that you heard."

"Mr. Trask, fo' Gawd, if you'll slip me a gun, I'll go back en blow dat man's haid off'n his neck! Mr. Peth he don't need to think he's goin' do no foolin' round with me, no, suh! I'm jest as mean as anybody when I'm stirred up, en I'm mad to mah marrer! If I'd had a gun——"

"You're more of a sprinter than a shooter, if I'm any judge," said Locke. "Never mind what you'll do. What did you hear?"

"Well, suh," said Doc, scratching his head, "I was a just sort of circulatin' 'round when I filled that bucket. I wanted to see what Mr. Peth was projectin' about wid the skipper, so I jest aidged up, closer en closer, when the cap'n he call me to shuffle along.

"They was a-talkin', kind o' low lak'. Mr. Peth he was a-sayin' how they all been fooled 'cause there ain't no gold on the island nohow. How they done dug en dug, but nary any gold. And Mr. Peth he 'lowed he was there for gold, and not a-gitten' any, he was goin' to be paid, en paid big, en all hands wanted a batch o' money. He said nobody comin' back here nohow, en how Jarrow'll have to stay there with 'em ontil they was paid.

"De old man he 'lowed he ain't no bank on wheels, and Mr. Peth he say back he don't care whar de money come f'om, he's gwine have it, en he slash up wid a gun en say to come along, en come quick. Then the others come out o' de woods, lookin' mighty mad, en I says to mahse'f, 'Doc Bird, this ain't no place for you to be circulatin' 'round, not if yo' wants fo' to die of old age,' so I jump fo' de boat."

"So it's a hold-up," said Locke, looking at Trask.

"You've got it," said Trask. "They set out to get gold, and can't find it. Now they think we'll pay them a good price to get out."

"We'll get out without any help from them," said Locke.

"You better not go pullin' up no anchors in this pocket," advised Doc, as he saw Locke look over the bows speculatively. "Yo' all would go smack on that yer reef, the way the tide's got a set."

"How much do they want?" asked Marjorie, who was more amused than worried at the way things had turned out.

"You'll have to ask Mr. Peth," said Doc.

"You get in the boat and go back ashore and get Dinshaw," said Trask. "If you see any of the crew, simply say we'll take the matter of paying them extra under advisement when we know what their idea is."

"Mr. Trask," said Doc, solemnly, "I'll go back if you give me a gun. I ain't 'fraid of no man what stands on two laigs if I got shootin' things. But I ain't goin' back with my bar' hands, for Dinshaw nor the 'Postle Paul, no, suh!"

"Oh, you want a gun, eh?" said Trask. "I'll bet you couldn't hit the island from here with a gun."

"Show me the gun," said Doc, eagerly. "I was in the army, if yo' all want to know. I got medals, yes, suh!"

"All right," said Trask. "Go in and serve breakfast and I'll give you a gun. Then we'll see what you can do."

Doc made for the cabin, and Shanghai Tom followed him, to whisper in the galley about what had happened.

"We'll be in in a minute," said Trask, and with a knowing smile Marjorie left the deck. Trask and Locke strolled forward.

"What do you think of it?" asked the older man.

"It's a mad scheme on the face of it," said Trask. "That's why I wouldn't undertake to say how it will turn out. But there's one thing I'm sure of."

"What?"

"The steward is crooked. He's too anxious to find out how many guns we have and too anxious to go back ashore. He's a spy."

"Then we wouldn't be wise to attempt to get the schooner out with his help," suggested Locke.

"He doesn't want us to try it, that's plain," said Trask. "I've an idea to test him out. It'll take a little time, but we might as well set out to see who's who in this crowd."

"That gang ashore'll try to get back here," said Locke, looking over at the island. "They can't live on sand and water."

"Come to breakfast," said Trask. "Just leave things to me, and talk about our guns. We've got to give the impression that we're a young arsenal."

They passed into the cabin, and Trask took the occasion to slip into the galley while Doc and Tom were absent, and lifting out an old rat-tail file, which the cook used to sharpen his knives on, slipped it up the sleeve of his jacket.

They sent Doc out on deck to keep watch and Trask ordered him to get the bucket of sand out of the boat.

"Don't you feel worried about this, Miss Trinkets," said Locke, as Marjorie looked up doubtful.

"Do you think it's serious, Dad?" she asked.

"Serious! Not at all! We'll get out of here as soon as there's a breath of air, and leave that wild lot to themselves."

"But poor old Dinshaw," she said, "and Captain Jarrow—what's to become of them?"

"We'll have to get Dinshaw, of course," said Trask. "I'll take Doc and go for him at once with the boat." He drank his coffee hastily, and went out on deck. He disappeared into the forecastle and was below for several minutes.

"Do you think you ought to risk going ashore?" asked Locke, when Trask returned with the bucket of sand.

"I don't believe they'll bother me," said Trask, and calling to Tom to bring him a frying pan, he measured out two or three cupfuls of sand and spread it carefully in the pan.

Then, to the amazement of all of them, he put the pan on the galley fire, and calling Doc, told him to watch the sand, and when it got well heated, to call him.

"Cookin' sand!" exclaimed Doc, with a suspicious look at Trask. "Ah never did hear of such a thing! What fo' yo' doin' it, Mr. Trask?" He made no attempt to conceal the fact that he doubted the young man's sanity.

"I believe there's gold in it," said Trask, simply. "And if there is, we'll find it by heating the sand and then cooling it with water quickly. See those dark grains? The heat will melt the gold which you can't see, and run it together, and then the cold water cracks away the shell of sand, and your gold particle can be washed out."

"Beats me!" declared Doc, scratching his woolly head, but he went to the galley with renewed interest to watch the strange dish which Trask had prepared.

"Don't stir it," said Trask. "Let it get good and sizzling."

"Yo' goin' cook de whole islan' in a fry pan?" asked Doc.

"If there's a hundred dollars' worth of gold in a bushel of sand, don't you think it would pay?" asked Trask, as he went out.

"Some cookin'!" declared Doc.

Trask now searched Jarrow's cabin in the hope of finding some sort of firearm, but there was neither pistol nor rifle. So he took the captain's spy-glass, a cumbersome, old-fashioned tube, and went on the poop deck to look the island over.

But the only living thing in sight was Dinshaw, busy scooping up sand with his hands, and building what appeared to be sand forts. The old man was working out near the point, close to the water's edge, piling up sand like a harvester getting ready for the work of gathering a crop. Mound after mound he made, in a long furrow on a line with the shore, just above the rim of the tide.

"I believe he is crazy," said Marjorie, as she looked through the glass. "Can it be possible he thinks that sand is gold?"

"That's been my suspicion for quite awhile," said Trask.

Locke began to laugh. "We are the prize boobs," he said, "if we've come here because a cracked old man thinks a beach is solid gold. We might have known he was out from the way he talked."

"Anyway, it's lots of fun," asserted Marjorie. "Think of it! A real mutiny, a lunatic, sand that's supposed to be gold——"

"Marge, you're a hard-shell optimist," chided her father. "Don't you realize that we're in danger? That a storm, or a dozen things would——"

"I rather enjoy it, Dad. I've always wanted to do something that was more exciting than playing tennis. I'm glad I came."

Trask looked at her and grinned. As she stood against the rail, spying out the land through an ancient glass, seeking some sign of a crew of piratical tendencies, he couldn't help thinking that this slender young woman with the yellow hair coiled under a canvas hat really was thrilled by the possibility of danger.

"By George! You do like it!" he said, admiringly.

"I'm only a little bit scared," she confessed.

"Mr. Trask, yo' better take a look at this mess," Doc called up the companion. He betrayed his suppressed excitement in his voice, and when Trask went down, followed by the others, the steward's hands were trembling and his eyes snapping with the spirit of discovery which possessed him. He might have been a scientist making a test which promised to realize lifelong dreams and labours.

"Fine! It's fairly glowing!" said Trask, as he passed a hand over the dish of sand.

They all pressed around him as he took a bottle of water from Doc and dashed the liquid into the sand. There was a cloud of steam and a terrific hissing.

"Now," said Trask, "pass me that wooden chopping bowl," and he dumped the wet sand out into the bowl, and laid it on the cabin table.

"Bring me another pan," he called, "and more water."

He began twisting the bowl with a rotary motion, and when Doc arrived with the pan, nursed the sand out into it, and as the last of the sand went over the lip of the bowl, ran out on deck into the sun, and examined the bottom of the wooden bowl.

"Lordy me!" gasped Doc, leaning over Trask's shoulder. "Look at the sparkle!"

The wet bowl was shot with tiny points of yellow, which caught the sunlight.

"Gold!" exclaimed Marjorie.

"By thunder!" cried Locke. "Dinshaw's right!"

"Gold without a doubt," said Trask, and turned to see Shanghai Tom staring into the bowl, his eyes fairly popping out of his head at this magical cookery which transformed a sea-beach into glittering wealth.

Trask resumed the washing, and in a few minutes had as much of the yellow powder as he could hold in the hollow of a palm.

"Man alive!" remarked the gleeful Doc. "I reckon we better take this yere island apart, right down level to the water!"

"There's millions on it," declared Trask. "When four cups of sand will assay that much gold, consider what's in a mile of beach like this."

"It's a new one on me," said Locke. "I never saw such a thing in my life and—— Hello! Here's the boat coming out!"

They ran to the rail, and looking shoreward, saw the dinghy, with two men rowing it, and Peth and Jarrow sitting in the stern sheets. They were heading straight for the schooner.