"We can look him up," Jim answered, "when we get to Fiji."
We rowed back in silence the rest of the way to the Albatross, lifted the poor boys tenderly on board, and laid them down to rest on our own bunks in the cabin. Serang-Palo, our Malay cook, made haste at the galleys to dress them a little arrowroot with condensed milk; and before half an hour the younger boy was sitting up in Jim's arms with his eyes and mouth wide open, craving eagerly for the nice warm mess we were obliged to dole out to his enfeebled stomach in sparing spoonfuls, and with a trifle of color already returning to his pale cheeks. He was too ill to speak yet—his brother indeed lay even now insensible on the bunk in the corner—but as soon as he had finished the small pittance of arrowroot which alone we thought it prudent to let him swallow at present, he mustered up just strength enough to gasp out a few words of solemn importance in a very hollow voice. We bent over him to listen. They were broken words we caught, half rambling as in delirium, but we heard them distinctly—
"Steer for Makilolo ... Island of Tanaki ... Wednesday the tenth ... Natives will murder them ... My mother—my father—Calvin—and Miriam."
Then it was evident he could not say another word. He sank back on the pillow breathless and exhausted. The color faded from his cheek once more as he fell into his place. I poured another spoonful of brandy down his parched throat. In three minutes more he was sleeping peacefully, with long even breath, like one who hadn't slept for nights before on the tossing ocean.
I looked at Jim and bit my lips hard. "This is indeed a fix," I cried, utterly nonplussed. "Where on earth, I should like to know, is this island of Tanaki!"
"Don't know," said Jim. "But wherever it is, we've got to get there."
CHAPTER III.
THE MYSTERY SOLVED.