An hour later the vines parted and a recumbent form was borne gently down the mountain; William Henry Thomas, that was, his new name wrapped in soft leaves over which his wife sobbed in tender ecstasy.
On the day following a bolt fell from the blue.
Swank and I were spending the afternoon with Triplett on board the Kawa where the captain was explaining the workings of various home-made navigating instruments which he had manufactured.
"This here is a astrolabe," he said, "jackass quadrant, I call it." He displayed a sort of rudimentary crossbow. "An' this here is a perspective-glass, kind of a telescope, see? Made'er bamboo. The lenses ain't very good; had to use fish-skin. Got my compass-plant nicely rooted in sand, see—she's doin' fine."
"What's this all for?" asked Swank.
Triplett smiled malevolently.
"Don't you want to know where you be? I've got it all figgered out. Got a chart, too."
He unrolled a broad leaf on which he had drawn a rough sketch of the island, probable north and possible latitude and longitude.
Again the chill of dismay and apprehension which I had felt before in Triplett's presence ran up and down my spine. It was beginning to dawn upon me that Triplett was planning a get-away. "My God!" I cried, "take that thing away! What you trying to do, Triplett? Hook us up to civilization with all its deviltry and disease and damned conventions? Don't you appreciate the beauty of getting outside of the covers of a geography?"
The old devil only grinned, his very leer seeming to say, "I've got a trump card up my sleeve, young man."