lipper Cay.
Rick didn't intend to land. He would circle the island once or twice,
then head again for Charlotte Amalie on the island of St. Thomas.

Scotty asked, "Where does the word 'cay' come from, anyway?"

Tony Briotti answered. "It's from the Spanish, Scotty. It means island,
or islet. However, the Spanish got it from the Taino people, who were
the Indians of the Antilles."

The island was close enough now so that they could discern its shape.
Rick saw that it formed a rough crescent, running from north to south.
It was about a mile long, perhaps a half mile wide at its greatest
width, tapering to the horns of the crescent. He saw also that the color
of the water changed gradually from the fathomless blue of the ocean to
the green of shallow water.

Inwardly excited, he put the nose of the plane down and let the small
craft pick up speed. Scotty grinned his pleasure, and Rick knew that his
pal was just as excited in spite of his joking skepticism.

Rick leveled off at an altitude of four thousand feet and put the plane
in a wide circle. Zircon leaned over Tony to look out the window, and
Rick had to compensate in a hurry because the big scientist's weight
threw the plane out of trim. Then Scotty, just as eager, leaned over to
Rick's side and the trim had to be corrected again.

The island was a travel agent's wildest dream. The blue water gradually
shifted to green, then lighter green, and finally the white of lovely
beaches on both sides of the island. Lines of surf marked the position
of reefs off both shores.

Somewhere along the western reef was the wreck of the _Maiden Hand_.
Rick wondered if they would have diver's luck and locate the ancient
bark, and at the same moment he was sure they would.

"Plenty of vegetation," Briotti remarked.

"Probably palms, perhaps some mangrove," Zircon agreed. "Take us down
for a closer look, Rick."

Rick obliged by standing the Sky Wagon up on a wing and sliding down as
quickly as safe flying allowed. He, too, wanted a closer look. He cast a
glance at his gas gauge. There was enough fuel, with a margin of safety,
unless he got too enthusiastic about lingering around the island.

He leveled off again at a thousand feet and flew up the east coast,
between the outer reef and the beach. This was the Atlantic side of the
island, and the surf on the reef was heavy.

"Cottages," Scotty called. "Look!"

They counted seven on the eastern side of the island, most of the