CHAPTER XXII

THE DESERT KEY As the motor-boat drew nearer to the deserted looking island Ruth was smitten with the thought that it was shaped a good deal like Pirate Island on which they had been making the picture. Yet one end of it—the rocky end—was entirely different in contour from that island. It looked so familiar that Ruth got up and stared eagerly from the fluttering shirt upon the palm tree to the pile of rocks that marked its southern end. Here was the contour of the island mapped by the wooden-legged sailor with whom…