“Some kind of sea bird,” said my uncle. “It sounds like a gull.”
I laughed, and laid down my gun.
“Why are you doing that?” said my uncle.
“Pee-wee!” came the cry again.
“Pee-wee!” I whistled, and then I shouted aloud, “All right! Steamer’s gone.”
There was the cracking of twigs and a loud rustling sound, followed by the sight of Pete, who crept out from among the bushes, hot, panting, and with face and hands terribly scratched.
“Sure she’s gone, Master Nat?” he said dolefully.
“Sure? Yes,” I cried. “It wasn’t our ship at all.”
“There, I knowed it warn’t all the time, only Bill Cross said he was sure it were. Here, come out! Way he! it’s all right.”
The carpenter forced his way out of the jungle soon after, glaring at Pete.