"Great Scott! It's a native canoe," declared Mr. McKay. "And she's heading straight for the island!"
The craft was some little distance from the entrance to the reef, her huge brown sail hanging idly from its yard, while the crew vigorously plied their paddles as they made the water fly from her sharp prow.
"Trouble in store?" queried Andy.
"It's well to be prepared," replied his father. "I know these natives of old. Sometimes they are quiet and inoffensive, at another time they are bold and war-like, or, what is worse, extremely treacherous."
"Then we must arm ourselves?"
"Assuredly. Quexo, bring my glass."
The mulatto darted off, and presently reappeared, bringing a glass of lime-juice.
"Not that, you ass!" exclaimed Mr. McKay, laughing. "Glass—telescope—see?" and he raised his hands to imitate the operation of using a telescope. "I'll have the drink, anyhow."
Once more Quexo ran to the house, this time bringing back the required instrument.
"There are at least forty natives," said Mr. McKay, after a lengthy examination of the oncoming craft. "They may be armed. If so, their weapons are lying on the bottom of the canoe. But unless I am very much mistaken, there's a white man aboard."