In front of one of the burned huts a tall savage stood, leaning on his spear. The fire-light played on his features and it struck Nat that the man had a far more intelligent look than his followers, at any rate those whom he had seen of them.
It soon transpired that this savage was none other than the chief of the tribe, or, at least, a person of authority. Nat was marched straight up to him and an excited colloquy between the chief and the men who had been lying under the canoe at once began. Other tribesmen came up while it was in progress. They gazed curiously at Nat, but offered him no violence. He wondered what would come next. He was not left long in doubt.
The chief gave a wave of his hand and presently Nat was led off once more. This time he was escorted to a grove of bread-fruit trees and then his hands were strapped behind him around one of the trunks. He was a prisoner for the second time that day, and, by a strange fatality, in almost the same place as had been the scene of his first captivity.
"This looks bad," muttered Nat, half aloud, as the savages, having tied him, walked off again, retracing their steps to the looted camp. "Nat Trevor, you'll need all your courage."
To his amazement, the next instant a voice came out of the darkness, evidently not far from him.
"Who is that who speaks of Nat Trevor?"
"Captain Akers!" exclaimed Nat. "How in the world did you get here?"
"Then it is you!" exclaimed the captain. "This is a most extraordinary meeting, Nat. I fear that we have about reached the end of our tether."
"Not by a long shot," chimed in another familiar voice, which Nat recognized with delight as being that of Cal Gifford. "Nat and me has been in as tough places and gotten out—ain't we, Nat?"
"That's right, Cal," was the rejoinder. "But that isn't answering my question. How did you come to be here?"