"Then I'll take the cook."
"Not unless the cook wants to go of his own accord," was Trask's reply. "I'm not going to ask Tom to do anything."
"Want me to go alone?" asked the captain, in surprise.
"I suggest that you row up toward the point, and call Dinshaw down to you. You can get him easy enough, and I'll stand watch here to see that you're not headed off by the dinghy."
Jarrow said nothing to this, but went aft for his glass, and studied the group far up the beach. The sailors were gathering wood from the jungle, and making a pile about halfway between the edge of the forest and the water.
In a few minutes a curl of white smoke was rising from the pile they had laid.
"Gittin' a meal ready," was Jarrow's comment, and he went into the cabin where Shanghai Tom was setting the table.
"Doc is making a fire to melt some gold on his own account," said Trask to Locke and Marjorie. "I wish him luck. Dinshaw is still piling sand into little dunes up near the point."