Tabu-Tabu, so you see you're not gettin' any the worst of it.
We'll proceed to an island in the Friendly Group called
Tuvana-tholo. It lies right in our homeward course, and there
ain't enough grub on the confounded island to last two men a
week. And I know there ain't no water there. So, now that that
matter is all settled, we will proceed to heave the anchor and
scoot for home. Mac, tune up your engines and we'll get out of
here a-whoopin' and a-flyin'."

Ten minutes later the anchor was hanging at the hawsepipe, and
under her power the _Maggie II_ swung slowly in the lagoon,
pointed her sharp bow for the opening in the reef, and bounded
away for the open sea. Captain Scraggs jammed on all of her lower
sails and within two hours the island of Kandavu had faded
forever from their vision.

It was an eight-hundred-mile run up to Tuvana-tholo, but the
weather held good and the trade-winds never slackened. Ten days
from the date of leaving Kandavu they hove to off the island. It
was a long, low, sandy atoll, with a few cocoanut-palms growing
in the centre of it, and with the exception of a vast colony of
seabirds that apparently made it their headquarters, the island
was devoid of life.

The bloodthirsty McGuffey stood at the break of the poop, and as
he gazed shoreward he chuckled and rubbed his hands together.

"Great, great," he murmured. "I couldn't have gotten a better
island if I'd had one built to order." He called aft to the
navigating officer: "Scraggsy, there's the ring. Nothin' else to