“It does seem so, doesn’t it?” laughed Fred. “At any rate all the boats seem to avoid it. We may never get a chance to use that signal.”
On the summit of the hill near the spot where George’s shirt did duty as a flag the boys had prepared a great pile of driftwood. The moment a ship was sighted this pyre was to be lighted to attract the attention of those on board the boat.
“Dey’s plenty ob people wot would lak to find dis island all right,” said Sam confidently. “Ah knows piles ob sailors wot would gib dere eye teeth to see dis yere island wid de sha’k rock on it.”
“Well, we found it all right,” exclaimed Grant, “and from the look of things it is just as hard for us to get away from it as it is for most people to find it.”
“We’ve done better than most of them anyway,” said Fred. “We’ve found the island but we can’t find the treasure. Most people can’t even find the island.”
“It hasn’t done us any good so far,” said Grant. “Now that we’re on this wonderful island what are we going to do about it?”
“Solve the code,” replied Fred promptly. “Once that is done the rest is easy.”
“The same old cry,” exclaimed Grant. “That code is beginning to haunt my dreams. I think of it all day and I dream of it all night.”
“Perhaps you’ll find the answer to it in a dream some time,” suggested John.
“If I only could,” sighed Grant disconsolately. “Come on,” he added, “let’s go back to the cave. Have you fixed your shoulder up all right, Sam?”