"No, sir," put in Thompson; "an' Ashley wouldn't neither. No more would Sanders."

"I believe you, my lads," replied the captain. "They've sailed with us before. But even if they don't fight against us, they can't fight with us as things stand now. The very least that Ditty will do with them is to hold them prisoners until he's put the job through."

"But he isn't going to put it through," cried Drew, his eyes kindling.

"Not by a jug full!" declared Tyke. "But we'll know we've been in a fight, I s'pose, before we can prove that to him. He's put his head in the noose now, an' he'll be desperate."

"I only hope I get a chance at him before the hangman does," muttered Drew.

"There's not much to be done until those fellows come over here," said the captain reflectively. "We've no way of getting out there to the schooner. This thing will have to be fought out on land."

"Do you suppose they'll attack us right away, or try to starve us out?"

Drew asked. "They've got the advantage in having provisions."

"No chance of starving us," replied Captain Hamilton. "There's plenty of fruit here, and then there are birds and small game. I saw an agouti run by a little while ago."

"Oh! Why, that's a rat, Daddy! Or is it a sort of 'possum?" cried Ruth, with a shudder. "And you men were hinting the other day that poor Wah Lee might serve us up some dainty dish like that!" she added with a chuckle.

"By George!" Tyke suddenly shouted. "There's cookee an' the steward!

We forgot them in our calculations. How about 'em, Cap'n Rufe?"

"Oh, that's so!" cried Ruth. "That little j.a.p boy never would turn against us, surely!"

"Nor Wah Lee," said Captain Hamilton reflectively.

"Neither of 'em would be much good," remarked Tyke. "You know how them critters are--both c.h.i.n.ks and j.a.ps. Cold-blooded as fish. They'll keep on cooking for the mutineers an' serving 'em. It's none of their pidgin whether that rascal, Ditty, bosses 'em or you are at the helm, Cap'n Rufe."

"Well, I expect you're right," agreed Captain Hamilton. "They're poor fish to fry. We can't count on them to supply us with grub, that's sure," and he laughed shortly.

"An' look here!" exclaimed Tyke, coming back to their former discussion. "How about water? We might git along on this sulphur water for a little while, but we couldn't stand it long."

"That's a little more serious," admitted the captain. "But we can get milk from the cocoanuts. There's plenty of them. And there's the chance of rain, too.

"But I don't think it will come to a siege," he continued, aside to Tyke. "Ditty will figure that he's got to have quick action. He knows that a vessel of some kind may come along any time, and then his cake will be dough. Besides, that bunch of rough-necks will be impatient for the loot that I've no doubt he's promised them."

"Where are you going to wait for him?" asked Tyke.

"Up at the whale's hump," replied the captain. "We can build a sort of fortification there that will help make up for our lack of numbers.

They'll have to come out of the woods into the open up there, too. We might wait here on the beach, but they could keep out of gunshot, and we wouldn't get a decision. They can't land too quick to suit me."

Acting on this decision, the party started back at once, dropping Rogers by the way at the ledge that overlooked the sea, so that he could bring to them a report of any action taken by the mutineers.

Ruth's presence at his side was very dear to Drew as they toiled along, but he was deeply apprehensive for her safety. The men of the party had only death to fear if the worst came to the worst, but his heart turned to ice as he thought of Ruth left without protection in the hands of the mate and his gang.

She seemed to realize his thoughts, for she looked up at him bravely.

"I wish I had the carpet of Solomon here," he said.

"Why?" she smiled.

"I'd put you on it and have you whisked off to New York in a flash."

"Suppose I refused to go?"

"You wouldn't."

"I would! Why should I go to New York? All whom I love are here."

"Here?" he breathed eagerly.

"Surely. I love my father dearly."

"Oh!" he said disappointedly.

"You don't seem to approve of filial devotion," she observed, darting a mischievous look at him from under her long lashes.

"It's a beautiful thing," he answered promptly. "But there's another kind that----"

"We'd better hurry," the girl broke in hastily. "We're letting them get too far ahead of us."

They hastened on, and the words that were on Drew's lips remained unspoken.

After all, he thought to himself as the old bitter memory, forgotten in the excitement, came back to him, it was better so. They must not be spoken. They never could be spoken while he was under the awful cloud of suspicion. The love that had grown until it absorbed all his life must be ruthlessly crushed under foot.

The party emerged upon the slope of the whale's hump. Nothing had disturbed the cairn they had built over the treasure chest, nor were the rifles and tools displaced. Captain Hamilton's decision to make the stand here was admittedly a wise one. Here was enough lava, rubbish to build a dozen forts.

"Jest the spot," Tyke said vigorously, waving his hand in the direction of the heap of lava blocks that hid the pirate's chest. "What do you say, Cap'n Rufe? Shall we make that pile o' rocks the corner of our breastworks?"

"Good idea, Tyke," agreed the captain. "But pa.s.s guns around first, boys. All of you can handle a rifle, I suppose?"

"Aye aye, sir," said Barker, "you'd better believe we kin."

"If it comes to bullets," said Captain Hamilton, "those swabs will be so near to us we can scarcely miss 'em. That is, if they come out of the jungle.

"Suppose they circle around and come at us from above?" Drew suggested.

"We'll build a circular fort, by gosh!" cried Tyke. "An' build the back higher'n the front. How about it, Cap'n Rufe? Then if them swabs climb the hill to git the better of us, they can't shoot over."

"You're right, Tyke," agreed the master of the _Bertha Hamilton_.

"I don't believe," said Drew, "that Ditty and the men have many firearms. Nothing like these high-powered rifles, that's sure."

"That's so, Drew, I'm sure," said the captain promptly. "Now, boys, get to work," he added. "Roll 'em down! Here, Barker, you're chantey-man. Set 'em the pace."

Weirdly, echoing back from the wall of the jungle and hollowly from the hillside, the improvised chantey was raised by Barker, and the chorus line taken up by the other seamen as though they were jerking aloft the schooner's topsails.

"Oh, Bug-eye's dead an' gone below, Oh, we says so, an' we hopes so; Oh, Bug-eye's dead an' he'll go below Oh, poor--ol'--man!

"He's deader'n the bolt on the fo'c'sle door, Oh, we says so, an' we hopes so; Oh, he'll never knock us flat no more, Oh, poor--ol'--man!"