LOST ISLAND
and Dave made a dead heat of it up to the flagpole, Jim lumbering up in the rear.
"Where away?" asked Tempest, while Dave put a light to the dry twigs.
"Right over there, in a line with my finger. Use the glasses, or else you can't see it." The boy's finger shook a trifle as he pointed.
"Thunder! You 're right, laddie!" Tempest said after a moment. "More brushwood, quick. Jim, you scalawag, I 'll skin you alive if you don't get busy. The fourth of July is n't in it with this for a bonfire. Get an ax, you Kanaka. Bushes—trees—whole forests if you can find 'em!"
Already the flames were licking their way above the pile of brushwood, and Dave and Tempest were wildly tearing at the branches near by. Soon the Kanaka, with gleaming eyes and mighty strokes, was tearing off more fuel, which was quickly flung to the top of the bonfire.
"That's the style!" Tempest shouted as the fire threw their figures up in its glare. "If she's
246
