  Two hours later, peering from a thicket of tall ferns and sprouting palms, the two boys were witnessing one of the most fascinating moving pictures from real life that they had ever chanced upon. About a broad fire of coals was a group of thirty or forty natives. Some were seated on palm logs, and some were standing. All were talking and laughing. “Um-m-m! Lead me to it!” Stew whispered. The object of his desire hung dripping over the glowing coals. A small porker, bound to an iron rod that slowly turned him over and over, had reached a shade of delicious, golden brown. “And barbecued pork is the thing I am fondest of.” Stew’s whisper betrayed real agony. “We’ll barbecue one some time,” was Jack’s only reply. He had been studying the group intently. They were a motley throng. There were big, dark-skinned men in the group who could have placed him across a knee and broken his back. There were dark-eyed, laughing children that anyone could love. The men, for the most part, wore cotton trousers. Some of the women wore dresses, some only cotton skirts, and some were in native grass skirts. “There’s that tall, slim one turning the roast,” Jack whispered. “What tall, slim one?” Stew replied. “Oh! I didn’t tell you!” Jack laughed softly. “I’ve seen her before.” “You would!” Stew mocked. Over near one corner of the fire two dusky maidens were baking some sort of cakes and stacking them in appetizing piles. The roasting of the porker appeared to have been left to the tall, slim girl. She turned and twisted it, prodded it with a huge fork, then turned it again. At last, taking up a large knife, she cut off a slice, held it up, and blew on it to cool it. At once from the throng rose an expectant murmur. Stew joined in. “Keep still, Stew!” Jack warned in a whisper. Without really knowing why, Jack had brought the monkey on his shoulder. Now the little fellow stirred uneasily. The girl at last handed the slice of bronzed pork to an old man with a long, wrinkled face. Carving off a small portion, he put it in his mouth. For a space of seconds his face was a study. Then it was lighted by a wide grin. He said a single word. At that the crowd exploded with joyous anticipation. “It’s done. The porker is roasted. And we don’t get even a bite,” Stew groaned. “What a life!” Then a strange thing happened. The crowd lapsed into silence. Only the snapping of bursting coals could be heard as the natives bowed their heads while the girl said a few words in a low tone. “Grace before meat,” Stew whispered. “What more can you ask?” “Plenty,” was Jack’s reply. “The Nazis and the Japs also pray. Then they go out to massacre women, children, and helpless prisoners of war. We’ll wait and see.” As if this scene awakened memories in his small brain, the monkey on Jack’s shoulder stirred, danced for a second, then gave an immense leap that landed him almost in the center of the throng. “Now we’ve got to beat it! They’ll be looking for us! Let’s scram!” It was a disconsolate Stew who trudged along the native trail toward their camp. “Lot we gained by that!” he grumbled. “Just a look at a grand feed! They were putting slices of pork between cakes when we left. Besides, we lost our monkey!” “We know more about the natives now,” said Jack. “Lot more. They say grace and eat nurses!” Stew mocked. “We couldn’t prove that. Perhaps the nurse gave them her dog tag.” “Fine chance!” Stew lapsed into silence. Jack was not thinking of the natives now, but of Ted, Kentucky, and all the other fellows on the Black Bee. “If they attack Mindanao before we get back to the ship, I’ll never recover,” he thought. “Hush!” Stew stopped to listen. Faint and far away they caught a long-drawn wail like a bow drawn slowly over the C string of a violin. “The Howler is coming back to roost,” said Stew. “Sounds that way,” Jack agreed. “Boy! I’d like to have one more look at that plane!” Stew said eagerly. “We’ll take a good look one of these times,” Jack assured him. “We’ve seen enough for one day.” They stood there listening until the howl of the rapidly approaching mystery plane had reached its height, then, as on that other night, wavered and ceased. “They’re here all right,” Stew said, as they paused on a tall, barren rock to look back. On the spot where the plane had been parked before, they caught the gleam of a wavering light. When they reached the beach, ready to start on the last quarter mile of their walk, they paused once more. The tide was coming in. Above the rushing sound of the breakers on the beach they had caught a bump—bump—bump. After ten seconds of listening, they heard a loud crash. “What’s that?” Stew asked in surprise. “Don’t ask me. Let’s go see.” Flashlight in hand, Jack was clambering over the rocks. “It’s a life raft,” he called back a moment later. “Waves threw it on the rocks. Come on! Let’s grab it before a bigger wave carries it back.” It was a large raft, wet and slippery. They got a good ducking before they had the raft high and dry. They were soon to learn that it was worth their effort. “It’s a Jap raft!” Stew exclaimed. He had discovered Japanese characters on a sealed metal cannister. “Must have come from a carrier,” suggested Jack. “Too big for a cruiser or a destroyer.” “I’ll bet it came from that carrier we spotted!” Stew exploded, becoming greatly excited. “Boy! Oh boy! Our bombers got them!” Jack was not too sure of this. However, they soon established the fact that the raft was undamaged and had no broken lines attached to it, so it could not have been blown from the carrier by a bomb. Then Jack was convinced that the Japs must have lost the raft in trying to launch it while under fire, and that the carrier must have been sunk. “That’s swell!” he sighed. “Means we’ve been some use to our country. I hope Ted and all the rest got home safely.” “It’s great news!” Stew agreed. “But that means our task force finished that job twenty-four hours ago, so where are they now?” “You tell me,” Jack sighed. “But say!” Stew exclaimed. “There are three or four big sealed cans attached to the raft. Let’s cut them loose and take them in.” “Sure! That’s what we’ll do!” Jack agreed. “Then we’ll open them and see what kind of luck we’ve had.” They carried away the three large cans, to open them later by the light of a small fire built among huge rocks, where the glow would not show. One can they found to be filled with food—packages of rice and tea, bars of bitter chocolate, and small tins of fish. They put away these supplies against some evil day. The second can also contained some food. Besides this there was a quantity of first-aid material. Finding this in good condition, they stowed it away carefully. The last can promised to be the grand prize, provided they could figure it out. It was a small radio sending set, powered by electricity generated by turning a crank. “It’s an imitation of our American emergency radio,” Jack declared after looking it over. “Take a lot of doping out, but it’s our best bet for getting in touch with our ship. We’ll get busy on it first thing in the morning. “And now,” he added in a changed voice, “how would you like to grab a few winks of sleep while I guard camp and solve some of the problems of the universe?” “Nothing would suit me better.” Stew yawned. “It’s been a long day.” It was a gloomy little world Jack watched over that night. Dark clouds had come rolling in at sunset. They had thinned out a little now, giving the moon an occasional peek at him. “Just enough to give some prowler a shot at us in the night,” he grumbled to himself. He wished he knew who those men were with the propellerless plane. How was he to find out? Ask the natives? But were these natives to be trusted? Missionaries had beyond a doubt been here, but they weren’t here now. “How long does it take these primitive people to drop back into their old ways?” he asked himself. But he found no answer. “Things will work themselves out,” he reasoned hopefully. After that he gave himself over to thoughts of the folks at home. Dad and Mom seated by the fire—Patsy in the house next door, studying perhaps, or entertaining one of the 4-H boys. How shadowy and far away it all seemed now. He was deep in the midst of all this when suddenly, as the moon cast a patch of light on his beach and the cluster of palms not twenty yards away, he was startled by a voice at his very elbow. “Hist there! You!” it whispered. Startled, but standing his ground, he gripped his automatic, then in his hoarsest whisper answered: “Hist back to you!” |
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