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“That’s that,” Drake said. “Us crazy American treasure-hunters are alone again.”

“You don’t think he suspected anything?” Sorensen asked.

“Definitely not. As far as he’s concerned, we’re just crackpots.”

Grinning, they looked back at their camp. Under the copra shed was nearly fifty thousand dollars worth of gold and silver bullion, dug out of the jungle and carefully reburied. They had located a part of the Santa Teresa treasure during their first month on the island. There was every indication of more to come. Since they had no legal title to the land, the expedition was not eager to let the news get out. Once it was known, every gold-hungry vagabond from Perth to Papeete would be heading to Vuanu.

“The boy’ll be in soon,” Drake said. “Let’s get some stew going.”

“Right,” Sorensen said. He took a few steps and stopped. “That’s funny.”

“What is?”

“That scorpion the skipper squashed. It’s gone.”

“Maybe he missed it,” Drake said. “Or maybe he just pushed it down into the sand. What difference does it make?”