us that the flotilla was indeed Hooja's. I told Juag to hail them

and get what information he could, while I remained in the bottom

of our canoe as much out of sight as possible. Dian lay down at

full length in the bottom; I did not want them to see and recognize

her if they were in truth Hooja's people.

"Who are you?" shouted Juag, standing up in the boat and making a

megaphone of his palms.

A figure arose in the bow of the leading canoe--a figure that I

was sure I recognized even before he spoke.

"I am Hooja!" cried the man, in answer to Juag.

For some reason he did not recognize his former prisoner and

slave--possibly because he had so many of them.

"I come from the Island of Trees," he continued. "A hundred of

my boats were lost in the great storm and all their crews drowned.

Where is the land? What are you, and what strange thing is that

which flutters from the little tree in the front of your canoe?"

He referred to our sail, flapping idly in the wind.

"We, too, are lost," replied Juag. "We know not where the land

is. We are going back to look for it now."

So saying he commenced to scull the canoe's nose before the wind,

while I made fast the primitive sheets that held our crude sail.

We thought it time to be going.

There wasn't much wind at the time, and the heavy, lumbering dugout

was slow in getting under way. I thought it never would gain any

momentum. And all the while Hooja's canoe was drawing rapidly

nearer, propelled by the strong arms of his twenty paddlers. Of

course, their dugout was much larger than ours, and, consequently,

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