Turning to his friend, he saw that Pitch was facing straight ahead, but with half-closed eyes, as though he were deep in concentration. Steve looked back at their wake and at the small dory they were towing. Pitch had insisted upon taking it along just in case something should go wrong with the launch’s motor. And lying in the back of the launch were the two backpacks that he and Pitch had crammed with tinned food, cooking utensils and a tiny stove. Beside them lay the folded canvas tent, and next to that the pick and shovel.

Steve’s eyes remained upon the last-named objects. He wondered if Pitch would mind very much when he confessed to him that he really wasn’t interested in digging up the earth in search of relics the Spaniards might have left there. Tonight he planned to tell Pitch exactly why he had come, why he wanted to explore every foot of Azul Island. And he wondered what Pitch’s reaction would be to his story.

Steve remembered very clearly his first impression of the barren, mountainous rock of Azul Island. From the ship, it had looked as though no living thing could climb those sheer walls of yellow stone. Yet surely there had to be a way leading to the interior of the island. Still, Steve thought with concern, whenever Pitch had spoken of the island he had mentioned only the rolling, sandy plain. And Tom too had called it “nothing but a spit of ground … a wind-swept sandbar.”

“Pitch,” Steve said, “I was wondering about the rest of Azul Island. I mean, other than the plain and canyon you’ve mentioned. How do you get into the interior of the island?”

“You don’t,” Pitch replied. “It isn’t possible.” Then, looking at Steve in puzzlement, “I hope, Steve, that you didn’t think it was.”

Steve couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. “I did, Pitch. I didn’t think Azul Island just consisted of the plain you’ve mentioned.” Then he asked quickly, “But what about the rest of the island, Pitch? There’s at least nine miles of it. I know because the ship passed it on the way to Antago.”

“Then you must know what a natural fortress it is,” Pitch replied quietly. “No one could possibly scale those smooth walls of stone, even if he wanted to.” Then he added with an attempt at humor, “Which no one has, of course.”

“But from the canyon? Is there no way up from the canyon?”

The serious tone of Steve’s voice caused Pitch to shake his head sadly as he said, “No, Steve, I’m afraid not. The canyon comes to an end up against the most precipitious wall of rock you’ve ever seen. There’s an overhanging cliff about three hundred feet above the canyon floor, but that too, of course, is inaccessible. You’ll see for yourself in a little while now.”

In a little while now. You’ll see for yourself in a little while now.

Steve repeated Pitch’s words over and over to himself as the motor launch swept across the sea. He said them when the horizon was nothing but sea and sky. He said them when the yellowish dome of Azul Island appeared, the sun turning it into a glowing spire of copper and gold.

There was no mist and, very shortly, he could see the waves crashing against the walled barriers, sending their white fingers climbing frantically, eagerly up the mountainous rock as though the waves, too, sought an entrance to Azul Island. And then, their force spent, they would retreat, falling back into the sea.

But toward the southern end of the island, the walls began their gradual descent, finally merging with the sea and becoming a long stretch of sandy beach over which the waves, unstopped, rolled high onto the shore. At one point, a narrow wooden pier extended into the water. Pitch steered the motorboat toward it.

In a little while now. You’ll see for yourself in a little while now.

Steve helped Pitch moor the boat to the pier. He put on his backpack and carried the folded canvas tent under his arm; then he followed Pitch down the pier and stepped onto the beach.