If Mr. Howell had been an hour's trek north of the castaways' camp, he would indeed have heard an outboard motor. On the west side of the island, the mandarin-orange sunset gilded the glowing mountains and glittered on the waves of a little cove. Silhouetted against the fiery sky, a small motorboat shot through the water. In the bow, a black- hatted figure drew his black cape more closely about him. "Hurry, Igor! We cannot risk being seen!"

A small monkey dressed in a black sweater and trousers nodded and deftly pulled the rudder, guiding the little craft towards shore. The third passenger in the boat, a tall, hulking man dressed exactly like the monkey, sat hunched over with a glazed expression, nibbling at a banana. Every so often he gave his arms and back a vigorous scratch.

Slowly the little craft nosed into the beach, and the man in the black cape sprang out as lightly as a cat into the damp sand. "Cut the motor, Igor!"

The monkey flipped the ignition switch off and climbed out of the boat to crouch pensively by his master. This left only the tall man still aboard, gumming the last of his banana in perfect contentment.

The man on shore glared at the man in the boat. "You fool! Why do you sit there? We have much work to do!"

The tall man looked up and gleefully flung the banana skin at the man on shore. When it whacked into the black cape and slowly slid off, the tall man gibbered excitedly while the little monkey smiled.

Peering out from under his cape, the man on shore rolled his eyes. "Never did I see an ape with such delight in throwing things! It will get you into trouble someday, mark my words! If it were not for your great strength I would have left you at home!"

The tall man hunched over, scratching, while the monkey tugged at his master's trouser leg. His master looked down, and a sneer twisted his bearded features. "No, Igor. I will not change you back so easily. If it were not for your stupidity, I, Boris Balinkoff, would have been ruler of the world! You will stay as you are until my work here is successfully concluded."

The monkey glowered. Meanwhile, Balinkoff pulled a biscuit from his pocket and turned to the man in the boat. "Come, then. Conceal the boat, and you shall have a treat!"

The tall man chattered in excitement. Clambering out of the boat, he seized the gunwhales and dragged the craft off towards the undergrowth in a hunched, lurching gait. Moments later he came scuttling back swiftly but awkwardly on all fours. Balinkoff sighed and looked to heaven. "Thank goodness I have not need of grace or intelligence! Come, both of you! To the cave! We will see if my equipment is still intact."

The unlikely threesome started off into the jungle as the first shadows began to fall.

Several hours later they were still wandering the jungle, the monkey wobbling upright on his short hind legs while the tall man crept along through the undergrowth. Balinkoff, looking up from the cigarette case-sized metal device in his hand, shone his flashlight about the thick, dark, rustling jungle. "We should have found it by now! Where can that cave be hiding?" He shook the device in frustration. "Bah! Years of my brilliance it took to perfect this processing unit, and five seconds of Gilligan's stupidity to ruin it with one well-aimed coconut! Still, the signal remains strong. We must be getting close! Come!" He stalked eagerly along as the monkey and the man followed him, until at last the little monkey toddled on ahead.

"Igor, where are you going? Do you wish to be lost?" Balinkoff swept the amber beam of his flashlight back and forth in the darkness until he finally focused on the little creature, who was perched up on top of a pile of rocks that lay up against the side of the mountain. The monkey pointed to the pile and the hill in great excitement until Balinkoff's bulbous eyes widened in understanding. Meanwhile, the tall man crouched on the ground beside Balinkoff, tossing pebbles into the ferns.

"Ah! Now I understand! Some kind of cave-in has occurred! That is why we could not find the entrance! But the signal is still strong: my equipment still functions. Let us pray that it is not beyond repair!" He turned to the tall man. "Pay attention, you stupid beast! You wish to throw stones? Then clear these rocks!"

The tall man swayed forwards as the little monkey scrambled nimbly down from the pile. As Balinkoff shone the light on the pile, the tall man seized boulder after boulder and tossed them effortlessly into the jungle. Balinkoff glanced down at the little monkey. "You miss your great strength, Igor, no? But then I forget – you were ready to trade that strength to become a woman! Will I ever forget my shock when you entered my laboratory in the body of Miss Grant!"

The monkey crossed his arms, pouting. Meanwhile, the tall man was enthusiastically pitching the last of the stones aside. When the cave mouth yawned open in a cloud of dust, the tall man clapped with childish joy. Balinkoff drew another biscuit from his pocket. "Well done. Now we shall see what remains of my masterpiece!"

They crept inside, peering about as the gleaming walls of the cave sprang up briefly in the strong beam of the flashlight before disappearing once again into the gloom. Balinkoff held a silk handkerchief to his face against the dust as they moved further in, and suddenly he exclaimed in a muffled cry of joy. "There it is, Igor! My computer! It is undamaged!" He raced up to the tall, dusty machine and wiped it with his handkerchief, running his hand over it as though it were priceless china. He flipped several switches, and little lights on the front of the machine glowed eerily in the darkness. "Ha, ha! Success, Igor! We can now move ahead as planned!" He pulled the little metal device from his pocket, and caressing it lovingly with his thumb, turned to the watching monkey and man.

"No more children's games of switching people's minds with animals, or using rings that turn men into robots! This new invention is my greatest triumph!" Balinkoff's maniacal eyes gleamed. "And now, to find my marooned guinea pig!"

In the valleys and along the coast the island was a green and pleasant land, but the mountains were a world all their own. Jealously guarding their secrets, they hid their high summits in a perpetual veil of mist, while their sharp, deep-shadowed fissures, carved by cascading waterfalls, dared only the suicidal to scale them. And the Whispering Mountain, towering, dark and lonely in the midst of the island's loveliness, was the most forbidding of them all.

The Skipper, the Professor and Gilligan made camp at the base of the mountain several hours after nightfall, hiking up the lower slope the next morning to begin their task. By late afternoon, as the three men still toiled in the damp mountain air, Gilligan was almost grateful that the task of unearthing the Professor's mushrooms was as distracting as it was backbreaking. Gilligan and the Skipper groaned as they pushed down on the thick branch they were using as a lever, while the Professor, kneeling nearby, watched the wobbling of the huge boulder that they sought to dislodge. "That's it, fellows. You've nearly got it!"

The Skipper's face was turning the colour of Gilligan's shirt. "Come on, Gilligan! Put some muscle into it!"

"Why don't we put your muscle into it?" gasped the first mate. He pointed at the Skipper's belly. "Like this one!"

"What?" the Skipper wheezed.

"Come on, Skipper. Just jump on the branch and that rock will go flying right into the sea!"

"Gilligan, that's ridiculous!"

Gilligan was underneath the branch now, skinny arms straining. "Not as ridiculous as this, Skipper! We'll never budge it!"

The Professor looked up imploringly. "This is the last one, Skipper. Just one more batch of mushrooms and I'll have enough to begin my experiment."

"Come on, Skipper! Please?" Gilligan's strength finally fizzled and he lost his hold, landing on his back amid the damp, springy ferns.

The Skipper stood up, dragging his arm across his sweating brow. "Oh, all right. Well, get out of the way, Gilligan!"

"Aye aye, sir!" Gilligan scrambled up with a sigh of relief and backed off to a safe distance.

"Here goes!" With difficulty, the Skipper hooked one leg onto the branch and hauled himself over. The giant boulder rocked and teetered like an upended egg.

"You've nearly got it, Skipper!" The Professor cried. "Hang on!"

The Skipper grunted and hooked both arms around the branch, trying to keep his balance. At last the boulder toppled forwards, and Gilligan and the Professor cheered as it went crashing down the slope and ploughed into the undergrowth below.

Of course, now that the rock was gone, there was nothing holding the branch in the air. "Doop!" yelled the Skipper as the branch plummeted like the wrong end of a see-saw, taking the old sea dog down with it. "Ow!"

Gilligan winced and hurried over. "You okay, Skipper? Guess you should have jumped ship before she went down!"

The Skipper groaned as he crawled painfully to his feet. "You better jump ship before I get my hands on you! Of all the hair-brained ideas!"

"But it worked," Gilligan noted, pointing to the Professor.

Down on all fours, the Professor was scrabbling like a terrier at the crater in the soil left by the boulder. He chortled for joy as he snatched up a bundle of thick, white tubes. "Oh, this is just wonderful! There's a treasure-trove of these fungi under here! I can't thank you two gentlemen enough. I never could have done it alone!"

The Skipper's wrath vanished like a snuffed candleflame at the Professor's praise. "Gosh," he chuckled, scratching his head shyly under the back of his captain's hat, "Well, we're glad to lend a hand any time, Professor. I sure hope these experiments of yours turn out the way you hope."

"Believe me, Skipper, if they do, the whole world will owe you a debt of gratitude for this discovery."

The Skipper blinked. "Come again?"

Gilligan was just as confused. "Professor, I'm pretty sure somebody else already discovered the lever."

The scientist laughed. "No, no, Gilligan. I mean they'll thank you for helping me collect these mushrooms. Scientists believed they were extinct, and I couldn't believe it when I found a surviving colony of them on this island."

The Skipper peered at the unprepossessing fungi. "I remember you telling us back at camp you thought you could use them for medicine, Professor. Are they really that valuable?"

The Professor held one up, eyes alight. "Skipper, they're worth their weight in gold. They have absolutely miraculous healing powers, and if my experiments prove conclusive, they're a wonder drug that could prove as revolutionary as penicillin!"

"Wow!" Gilligan exclaimed again.

"Yeah!" echoed the Skipper. "That's great, Professor!"

"But the Skipper and I didn't discover anything," Gilligan pointed out. "We didn't even discover the mushrooms – you did. We just helped you move the rocks."

"He's right, you know," the Skipper added. "We never would have guessed how important these mushrooms could be. The credit's all yours, Professor."

The Professor shook his head, smiling. "Nonsense. The credit belongs to all of us, just as do the resources of the island."

The Skipper laughed. "Well, thanks, Professor." Suddenly a loud, ominous rumble filled the air.

"What was that?" asked the Professor, looking around . "I hope we aren't in for a thunderstorm."

"Nope," said Gilligan, throwing a sly glance at his big buddy. "But on board ship that noise used to get the whole mess hall in a panic. 'Look out, fellas! The Skipper wants his chow and he wants it now! Every man for himself!'"

"Very funny!" Another rumble shook the air and the Skipper patted his belly in embarrassment. "But I've got to admit it – lunch sure seemed like a long time ago."

The Professor chuckled. "Well, why don't you two get started back to camp? After all, we did tell the others we'd be back by suppertime."

The Skipper started. "Aren't you coming with us, Professor?"

The Professor tossed a few more mushrooms in his bag. "No, Skipper, I'll follow you in a little while. I want to do a little archaeological exploring up there before I leave." He pointed up the incline, where the dark clouds draped cool fingers of mist over the hidden heights.

"Up there?" Gilligan gasped. All happy thoughts of camp and supper suddenly vanished. "Where the village was? Where those stone things are? Professor, you've got to be kidding! Bad enough we've come this far up this creepy mountain. You wouldn't get me up there for a million dollars!"

"And anyhow, this was supposed to be a mission to get mushrooms," said the Skipper, folding his arms. "How come you never mentioned anything about exploring those ruins until now, Professor?"

"If I had, would either one of you have come along?" The Professor shook his head, sighing. "Gentlemen, how long are you going to go on living in fear of things that are not real? There are no such things as ghosts or curses!"

"Evil is real, Professor," said the Skipper. "And a man who doesn't fear anything'll live to regret it. You mark my words."

"I swear last night I could hear somebody whispering in the jungle," said Gilligan, inching nearer to the Skipper as he looked fearfully up at the misty heights. "Something about, 'Quiet, you fool! They'll hear us!'"

The Professor rolled his eyes. "That was your imagination, Gilligan. Probably merely the wind in the trees. Did we see so much as one ghost last night? Did a single evil spirit creep up and cast a spell on us?"

"Well..." Gilligan's eyes flashed in accusation. "What about when the lean-to fell down on the Skipper's head?"

"That was only because you started so violently at the cry of that bird that you knocked the support pole down!"

"Oh...oh, yeah." Gilligan looked guiltily at the Skipper. "Sorry about that, Skipper."

"Never mind, Gilligan. I'm with you. The place has got to be full of hexes." The Skipper pointed up the slope. "Look at what they used to do up there!"

"Skipper, that was hundreds of years ago! The place is completely deserted! Those people are gone!"

"And good riddance!" The Skipper folded his big arms again and snorted. "Nice bunch of folks, all right. Human sacrifice, cannibalism...why, they used to execute somebody if he ate the wrong banana or stepped on the chief's shadow!"

"I wouldn't have lasted two minutes," gulped Gilligan.

"But you don't understand," the Professor pleaded, his eyes beginning to gleam with scientific hunger. He reached into his canvas bag that lay nearby and took out some small picks and brushes. "You don't realize how close I am. I've cracked the code of their hieroglyphics! I'll be able to write the definitive text on the subject of primitive Pacific tribes: far more groundbreaking than Professor Oldenberg's!" He held up two fingers in a pincer motion. "And I'm this close to solving the mystery of why this entire tribe suddenly vanished!"

The Skipper was unimpressed. "So that's why you were making so mysterious with that bag! Humph! Well, you might just vanish too, Professor, if you meddle in things you don't understand. Believe you me: some things are best left alone!"

The Professor stood up, brushing the dirt from his pantlegs. "Gentlemen, I spent two years with an archaeological expedition in Egypt, and the curse of the mummy's tomb didn't follow me afterwards. I'm willing to gamble that it won't affect me here, either. And I certainly don't intend to turn my back on a scientific breakthrough for the sake of a sailor's superstition!"

The Skipper bristled at the condescension. "Then how about for the sake of a promise?" he snapped. "We told the others we'd be back by tonight, and I don't like leaving the Howells and the girls all alone for long."

"Skipper, that seems perfectly reasonable to me," said the Professor. "So, why don't you and Gilligan start back as I suggested? Here's the map." He reached into his pocket for the paper, and as he drew it out the dried petals of Ginger's flower fluttered to the ground. "Oh...and, uh, tell the others I'll return in due time."

The Skipper shook his head. "I don't like leaving a man behind in a place like this. Even without the ghosts, it's none too safe up here with this crazy weather and these steep slopes! And you can forget about me going back and leaving Gilligan with you – he'll have nightmares for weeks!"

"Thanks, Skipper," Gilligan breathed. "Aw, come on, Professor. Come back with us, huh? You won't be safe here alone!"

The Professor laughed. "I used to teach woodsmanship, remember? I assure you, Gilligan, I'll have no difficulty managing alone or finding my way back."

The Skipper took a deep breath and let it out slowly, like steam from a pressure cooker. "Professor, I think I'd have better luck trying to move this mountain than moving you. Seems we're at a stalemate."

The Professor's smile was just a little triumphant. "Checkmate, I'd say."

"Sounds like the curse is working already, Professor," said Gilligan, frowning. "It made you cheat and and now it's made you into a wiseguy!"

"Well, we could wait another hour, I suppose," hedged the Skipper, looking up as the dark heights seemed to close in on them. "At least you wouldn't be alone. You never know—"

"What hobgoblins I might encounter?" The Professor's blue eyes danced with mischief. "Why, I'd consider it a splendid opportunity, Skipper. I could catalogue them right along with the ruins! What an article for National Geographic!"

"Har har. All right, Professor, I get the picture. Well, on your own head be it." The Skipper took the map and turned to Gilligan. "Weigh anchor there, little buddy. We've got a long way to go." When the two sailors had gathered their gear, including two large bags of mushrooms, they turned towards the twisting track that led down the mountain. The Skipper looked back, his eyes uneasy. "Be careful, Professor. That's an order."

The Professor waved, grinning. "I'll give your regards to the evil spirits!"

When the bright blue and red shirts of his friends finally disappeared amid the wild fortress of greenery that hugged the mountain's base, the Professor turned and started up the slope, eyes shining with eagerness.

But the Skipper and Gilligan had been right.

The Professor was not alone.