“Present—for Big Chief!” repeated Bill, and bent low over the coaming and rail to hand them several brightly polished silver belt-buckles, a glittering glass pendant, and some strings of gay beads. He handed them down into the canoe.
The men considered them without expression. Then one looked up.
“What you want?” he asked.
“Want visit chief—give more present—show Indians how get well. We bring big medicine.”
Taking the ornaments but hiding any show of appreciation, the men paddled swiftly toward shore.
“I hope it works!” Bill said, rather nervously, dragging an old cigar lighter from his pocket and snapping its steel wheel with his thumb to ignite its wick so he could light a cigarette.
“Darn these things!” he grumbled when it failed. “Always out of whack! And matches are so wet you get one to strike out of a whole packet!”
“Let me have it,” suggested Tom. “I can turn the flint and clip the wick. I used to do it for my—for my father.” Bill nodded, handed him the implement and struck match after match, finally getting a light.
Tom worked over the lighter until it operated three out of four times, filled it with gasoline from the drip of the slightly opened carbureter drain, and, carefully closing the drain again, slipped the lighter in his pocket as Andy called him to help get out the after anchor, because a huge, stormy cloud was rapidly coming over and the cruiser must be well secured. Tom forgot all about the lighter in the ensuing excitement, for a terrific tropical wind and rain came up and everyone had plenty to do to keep the cruiser from dragging onto reefs.
Early the next morning the canoe approached again; the storm was all over and the harbor was like glass as the roughly hewn craft slid gently up to the cruiser’s side.