“People!” Jack stood up. “Our island has inhabitants! Where there’s chickens there’s folks! What do you know about that? Shall we look them up?”
“Wait a minute!” said Stew in a puzzled tone. “You can’t be sure there are people on these islands. Those chickens may be wild.”
“Perhaps they are,” Jack agreed. “But that fellow who flies the howling plane must be human, so we’d better watch our step, since that means there’s someone on the island.”
“I meant native people,” Stew corrected. “Many of these small islands are deserted now. The natives went to larger islands, or the Japs have taken them off. Perhaps it’s true here.”
“Could be,” said Jack, “but if we don’t look up the natives or whoever is on this place, how’ll we eat?”
“I guess it’s emergency rations for us,” Stew replied. “But that’s not so bad. We’ve got matches for a fire and there’s powdered coffee.”
“Coffee! Boy! Lead me to it!” Jack jumped up. “If you’ll make a small fire and get the coffee ready, I’ll look around a little and see what our possibilities are.”
“And I’m going to have a look at that screamer today or know the reason why!” Stew told himself as he collected dried shreds of palm fronds, coconut shucks, and splinters of wood for a fire.
The crowing rooster had become mysteriously silent. Convinced by this fact that he must be wild, Jack climbed over boulders and forced his way through briar patches to reach at last the crest of the ridge.
Not wishing to expose himself to so broad a view, he threw himself down on a broad rock, then dragged himself forward for a view of the land that lay beyond. He let out a gasp of surprise.