scarcely had jack seated himself beside the slim girl in the shadows away from the campfire when she whispered:
“i hoped you’d come. i have something tremendously important to show you. first you must play for these people, for they love it.”
at that she clapped her hands and at the same time gave a sharp exclamation. some native word, thought jack. he was startled by this sudden turn of affairs.
the natives were on their feet in an instant. three brown warriors, doubtless misunderstanding the call, seized their spears.
like figures done in bronze, with the firelight playing on their dark faces, these three stood there, silent and alert, ready for action, as the girl said a few words to them in their own language. then the men relaxed and a low murmur ran round the campfire.
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“play now!” the girl commanded, turning to jack.
a louder murmur came from the natives as they settled back in their places and jack tuned his violin.
deciding that some simple tunes would suit these people best, the boy played “turkey in the straw.” pleased by their dancing eyes, he did the “arkansas traveler,” then “deep in the heart of texas.”
when he swung into “old man river,” the natives seemed to sense the meaning of the song, for their faces were somber and sad. but now some one was singing the words.
he listened carefully. it was the girl who sang.
“sing it all,” he whispered. he started once more at the beginning and she sang with him to the end.
after that he played on and on, wondering, where did this girl learn that song? she had said, “these people.” were they not her people? it was mighty strange.
when the fire had burned low and some of the native children were asleep at their mothers’ sides, jack put his violin away. then, as if he were in church and had preached a good sermon, the older members of the group came forward for a solemn handshake.
after a few words to the natives, the girl turned to jack. “i’ll show you a new way back to your camp,” she said in a quiet voice.
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a moment later, without a light, she was leading him through the inky blackness of a jungle trail.
“there are only two of us, my pal and i,” jack said to the girl after a time. “we may get into a tight spot any time!”
“oh, you are in a tight spot right now!”
in the meantime, some distance to the south, things were happening on the dark waters of night. catching the drone of airplane motors and recognizing them as those used in u. s. fighter planes, ted on his raft had become greatly excited. that’s kentucky and my other pals, he thought. they’re out looking for me. how can i signal to them?
a flare. the thought came to him at once. in his emergency outfit were matches in a sealed tin. with trembling fingers he opened the can.
but what could he use for a torch? he thought of his gony. its feathers would burn. but no. he couldn’t do that. his parachute? yes, it would burn. but what a waste. if other things failed, he’d use it. but meanwhile he’d tie his shirt to one of the paddles and light it. he wadded it tightly around the paddle blade so it would burn for some time. he lighted it, and moved it about in the air.
“it makes so little light. they’ll never see it,” he despaired.
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but they did see it. soon kentucky came zooming down while the others circled above him.
“boy! am i glad to see you!” ted put out a hand to kentucky when the plane was down and he had paddled to it.
“that makes two of us!” kentucky gripped his hand excitedly.
“i’ll be with the old black bee after all when we make that big push!” ted exulted.
“you won’t be in anything if you don’t get busy and climb up here!” kentucky laughed.
“wait. i’ll have to take care of my gony.” ted reached down.
“hey! ouch! quit it!” he exclaimed. “ungrateful creature! i should have used you for a torch.”
“what is it?” kentucky asked in surprise.
“just a gony—an albatross,” said ted. “he lit on my head and now he bites me for the tenth time. give me a light.”
kentucky held a light on it while ted cut the strap that held the huge bird. then he tossed the gony into the sea. “i was keeping it for emergency rations,” he laughed.
five minutes later he was in the plane, and they were roaring away. “just one more incident in the great war,” ted said. “some get rescued and some don’t.”
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“it’s all a matter of luck,” said kentucky.
“providence, luck, and pals,” ted added.
“there’s more work of the same kind to be done,” said kentucky. “i think i’ve got jack and stew located on one of those three islands.”
“great stuff! how did you do it?”
“stew’s got some kind of radio. not very strong, but i got him. he told me in a sort of code that they were on this end of the biggest island.”
“that’s swell!” ted exclaimed. “going after them is my job. jack’s from my home town.”
“say! that’s keen!” said kentucky. they flew on.
at the same time, on the island, with the aid of the girl, jack was making a startling discovery. she walked with surprising speed over the jungle trail. only now and then did she take his hand for an instant to whisper, “over a log here” or “up a low ledge now.”
“i didn’t want the natives to know,” she murmured low. “there might have been trouble if they saw what you are going to see. i didn’t want a fight—not now.”
“know what?” jack wanted to ask, but did not. what a queer girl this was! her skin was dark, her nose was rather broad, and her lips seemed thick, yet she was surely not like the others.
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“been raised by some missionary,” he told himself. he knew well enough that there were such girls. he had seen some of them in the solomons. some were nurses. he thought again of the nurse’s uniform hidden at the foot of a huge palm. had the girl been a native nurse?
“up now,” she whispered, gripping his hand.
they climbed straight up a rocky ledge. at the crest she pushed him down to a place beside her.
“look down,” she whispered.
he looked, then stared. almost directly beneath them, surprisingly close and all lit up by a near-by campfire, was the mystery plane. seated around the fire were not two men, but five. three were small, the others large. just then the two large men stood up. one was tall and rather thin, the other short and stout.
“not the same men!” jack whispered in astonishment.
“no, they’re not,” she agreed. “the three little men are japs.”
“japs!” jack could feel prickles at the back of his neck. “what does it mean?”
“danger!” came in a low whisper.