By night, with the moon hidden behind a mantle of clouds, the mango pool was a place of shadow and mystery. It was too dark to see far beyond one's hand; the only thing the Skipper and Gilligan could see in the warm gold flames of the campfire was each other. The Skipper had set up a simple camp: just a small fire and a couple of blankets on beds of piled palm fronds. He had not even bothered with a lean-to, for the pool was so sheltered that both men already felt that their heads were not houseless.

Lying on his side and facing the fire, the Skipper looked across at his first mate. "I wish you wouldn't take it so hard, little buddy. Just because he hasn't come back doesn't mean there's something wrong with him. The Professor said that cats are real shy out in the wild."

"That's funny. I wonder why he wasn't shy with me this afternoon, then. He sat with me for hours after you'd all left, and then just as I heard you calling, he disappeared again. Now it's dark and he's out there all by himself!"

"Gilligan, little buddy, I told you. He's a cat. Cats like to go off and prowl at night. He's probably just off somewhere, looking for his dinner."

Gilligan sighed. "Gee, I'd hate to think of him out there all alone and still hurting. But his leg seemed a bit better today. Maybe you're right."

The Skipper poked the fire gently, sending up a shower of sparks. "I'm sure I am. Say, speaking of legs, how's yours doing?"

"Not bad, actually. I haven't noticed it much today."

"That's good to hear."

Gilligan shifted slightly. "Uh, Skipper…I'm sorry I yelled at you this morning. I really am glad you're here with me. I thought I wanted to be alone – but I don't."

"Don't mention it, little buddy." The Skipper decided to test the waters. "You look tired. Haven't been sleeping so good lately, have you?"

"No, Skipper."

"Not just the leg, is it?"

"No, Skipper."

"Uh huh." The Skipper waited to see whether Gilligan would volounteer anything more. When he didn't, the old sea dog sat up. "Well, Gilligan, tonight I'm the ship's doctor. I've got a little prescription for you."

Gilligan's eyebrows rose. "A prescription?"

"Yup. Right out of the old Skipper's sea-chest. Guaranteed to help you get your forty winks."

"What is it?"

"I'm going to tell you a few of my war stories."

Gilligan couldn't hide a small smile. "To help me get to sleep? That might just work, Skipper. Sure has before!"

"Mmmm." The Skipper hid his delight at Gilligan's actually making a joke. "Very funny! But these are going to be a little different." The Skipper leaned back, his tone suddenly growing more serious. "Gilligan, I'm going to tell you about what happened to me at Pearl Harbour."

The young navy man looked up in great surprise. He shifted so that he could see the Skipper better. "Skipper? I…I know you were there," Gilligan said quietly. "But I know you don't like to talk about it. That's why I've never asked."

"Thanks, little buddy. It's not an easy thing to talk about. But I'd like to, now."

Gilligan looked at him searchingly over the drifting tendrils of smoke. "You sure, Skipper?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"I'm listening."

The Skipper looked into the crackling fire again and took a deep breath. "Well, it started just like this. The night before was very calm and still, just like now. We had no warning at all. The only reason I wasn't aboard my ship that morning was because I'd been given a special pass to go ashore to take care of a personal matter for one of the officers. I got back to the harbour just as the Japanese hit."

"Skipper," said Gilligan carefully, "what ship were you supposed to be on?"

"The Arizona."

"Oh, Skipper. Oh, my God." Both men were silent for a few moments as the campfire flames seemed to grow into the terrible conflagration of the doomed ships.

At last the Skipper continued. "Well, you've seen the newsreels. You know what it looked like. It was chaos. There wasn't even any ammunition for the anti-aircraft guns: it was all locked away." He closed his eyes and took another deep breath, then let it out swiftly. "When I saw my ship going down, and thought of all my buddies – boys the same age as me, the same age as you are now, Gilligan – going down with her, without a chance, I got more mad than I've ever been in my life. I got so mad, you know what I did?"

Gilligan's eyes were dark with sympathy. "No, what?"

"I grabbed a pistol and I started firing at the Japanese airplanes as they came down to strafe us. Crazy thing to do; shooting at planes with a pistol, you know? But I was so mad I just couldn't control myself!"

"Well, of course you couldn't, Skipper!" cried Gilligan, briefly reaching out and laying a hand on the Skipper's arm. "With an unprovoked attack like that, and no chance for your buddies to defend themselves? Who could blame you?"

The Skipper shrugged. "Well, after that I couldn't wait to see some real action. You know I was at the landing of the transports at Guadalcanal. We had a bit of a rough reception, but we made it. But I never did tell you that I went back out on one of the cruisers in the first battle of Guadalcanal."

"You did? Was that one of the three ships that got shot out from under you?"

"No." The Skipper flashed a brief smile. "No, that's another story. But boy, talk about a game played in the dark! Our force had shipped out into Ironbottom Sound to try to prevent the Japanese from taking the Henderson Airfield on Guadalcanal. That was one of the scariest nights of my whole life."

"What happened?"

"I'll never forget it." The Skipper gestured with his arm at the stygian darkness. "It was a night like this: pitch-black, with no moon. The whole column was lying there on a sea as smooth as black glass. And all of a sudden, the broadsides began. The flares were shooting up into the sky like red stars. And there was the Japanese fleet, all around us."

"You fought at night?" Gilligan whispered.

"Uh huh. Let me tell you, Gilligan, a sea-battle by day is no picnic, but at night, it's ten times worse. It was like being a barroom brawl with the all the lights out. You couldn't see which way to hit, or where the hits were coming from. You just fought for all you were worth. And you never knew when the hit was going to come that had your name on it."

Gilligan closed his eyes briefly. "Were you afraid, Skipper?"

"I was almost out of my mind, Gilligan," his friend replied quietly. "What sane man wouldn't be?"

"Yeah." After a moment, Gilligan spoke again. "Did you get hit bad?"

"Not as bad as some of our ships. We lost quite a few: even the big destroyers."

"Did the men get out?"

"Some did. Some didn't." The Skipper poked the fire again, and the sparks flew up, like the hot shower of an explosion. "The boys on the Cushing had some warning; they had time to get to the lifeboats. But the boys on the Laffey weren't so lucky; they were surrounded by enemy destroyers. A torpedo hit their keel, and then their magazine caught on fire. She went up like a volcano. And then she went down."

"Gosh." Gilligan looked at the Skipper intently. "Did you see any of the Japanese ships go down?"

"Yeah. We sank the Akatsuki fairly early on. She went up in smoke just like the Laffey."

Gilligan nodded and hesitated, and then all at once he asked the question he had to ask. "Skipper – how did you feel, when you saw you'd sunk the enemy?"

"At the time?" The Skipper looked him straight in the eyes. "I won't lie to you, little buddy. I was cheering. We all were. To go from feeling scared and trapped to feeling powerful? I tell you, it just surges through you like a storm on the sea. It's only afterwards, when you think about it…when I think of those Japanese boys, who were just following orders and maybe really believed they were defending their own country…"

"But they attacked first," Gilligan insisted. "You had to defend yourselves! And who knows what the enemy might have done to the civilians if they'd gotten past you? What else could you do?"

"Exactly, Gilligan. Exactly. I'd do the same thing all over again. But I wouldn't like to feel that first rush of joy for very long. It can turn dark pretty fast. And once in awhile, men get taken over by it. They get caught in that storm and can't get out."

"But most of them don't. You didn't." There was a desperate note of hope in Gilligan's voice now. "Skipper…how did you do it? What's the secret?"

Again the Skipper met his eyes. "There's no easy answer, Gilligan. Every man's got to find it for himself. As for me, I just told myself I had to remember who I really was, and what I was really fighting for." He reached over and, just for a moment, grasped Gilligan's hand in a firm grip. "And I've never stopped believing that there's good in the world - and in myself."

Gilligan's eyes glistened; his voice grew very soft. "Thanks, Skipper."

"You're welcome, little buddy." The Skipper smiled as he noticed Gilligan's eyelids start to flicker. "Say, I think my prescription's working."

The young sailor stifled a yawn. "Oh, I'm sorry, Skipper."

The Skipper leaned on his arm. "Don't apologize. You must be beat. Why don't you get some shut-eye? I'll stay up and keep watch."

"You sure, Skipper? I can take my turn too."

"Fine. I'll wake you if I need you."

"Thanks, Skipper. And thanks again for the...prescription." Gilligan put his head down, his eyes soon closing.

The Skipper watched Gilligan's slowly rising and falling chest. There was no noise but the soft crackle of the fire and murmur of the jungle insects. The Skipper looked up at the tops of the trees, invisible in the darkness. "If you're out there, little guy," he murmured, "watch out for him, okay?"

When Gilligan awoke, the first thing he noticed was that it was still night. The moon was out now, glowing in the treetops, but the fire had gone out. He looked across to the Skipper's blanket.

It was empty.

Gilligan looked all around. There was nothing but rustling darkness and shimmering moonlight around him.

"Skipper? Skipper, where are you?" Gilligan pushed back his blanket and rose to his knees. "Skipper? Skipper, can you hear me? Where are you?" At last he clambered to his feet, straining to see if he could spot the big man. "Answer me!"

And from somewhere beyond the pool came a soft, sharp cry, as of something in pain.

Gilligan gasped. "Little fella? Where are you? Are you okay?" Without even bothering to get his crutch, he hurried down the path towards the sound, to the dense wall of foliage that hid the little glade. The cry sounded again, further off now. He slid through the break in the bushes and raced on through the jungle, past the tall, wraithlike forms of the palm trees and shadowy bushes. Ever before him was that plaintive cry. And then came another sound: the terrible crack of a rifle shot. The cry became a scream.

Gilligan stopped, heart heaving. Then, with a deep breath, he charged forward to where a glade opened out before him: a glade lit by an incandescent moon. Standing at the far end was a man in safari gear, his rifle still pointed towards the ground. Gilligan looked down to see a small, spotted shape lying in the moonlit grass. The young sailor dashed over and scooped the little creature up in his arms. There was a bright gash of red on its thigh.

Alll of his fear shrivelled in the furnace of his anger. "You monster! All you know how to do is destroy! What did he ever do to you?"

Jonathan Kinkaid turned his cool gaze to the first mate. "No more than the boys at Pearl Harbour, Gilligan. Why? What are you going to do about it?"

Gilligan's blue eyes blazed. "I'm going to save him. And I'm going to stop you!"

The hunter smiled. "Be careful, Gilligan. The jaguar is a terrible beast."

"I know," said Gilligan. At that moment the margay opened its great yellow eyes and looked straight up at him. "Don't be afraid," Gilligan whispered. "I've got you."

There was a deep, coughing grunt from the jungle. Gilligan stood firm, the margay cradled in his arms.

The jaguar burst from the darkness in all its power and passion and deadly grace. The little margay craned its head to look, but Gilligan held it back. "No, don't go near him. You're never supposed to meet!"

He stood there holding the little cat as its giant cousin leapt upon the hunter, and as before, Kinkaid struggled and screamed beneath those steaming jaws. " Call it off! My God, call it off!"

Gilligan was about to open his mouth when suddenly the margay sprang from his arms and streaked across the grass like a yellow flash of light, heading straight for the deadly struggle. "Stop!" Gilligan shouted, charging after the little creature. "He's too dangerous!"

The margay had nearly reached the pair when the jaguar lunged down and gave that single, awful bite. Then, red with tooth and claw, it raised its great head to glare at its tiny lookalike.

Not two feet from the monster, the margay faced it fearlessly, hissing and lashing its long tail back and forth. Its yellow eyes shone like twin moons.

And the jaguar, staring, slowly backed away.

Gilligan dropped to his knees at the margay's side, breathless with wonder. When he saw that the jaguar would not approach, he reached down and carefully turned Kinkaid's head towards him. The hunter strove to focus. "Impossible," he gurgled weakly. "That little thing...stronger...than a jaguar?"

"I never knew how strong he was," whispered the first mate. "He would have saved you, but you'd hurt him. He couldn't get to you in time."

For a moment Kinkaid's eyes seemed to focus in understanding. Then his head fell back, and the pain-wracked eyes closed.

The margay crouched down, quiet and subdued. "You tried," Gilligan said. "It wasn't your fault." Then he looked up at the huge jaguar, with its dripping tongue and strange, familiar eyes. "It wasn't your fault either. I owe you my life...maybe even the lives of the others, too. I couldn't have done it without you."

The beast began to pad towards him.

"No," Gilligan said quietly. "You've got to go back, deep into in the jungle. You can't come back to the Skipper and the others with me. You'd frighten them too much; you even frighten me. I hope I never need you again, but at least if I do, I know where to find you."

The great cat regarded him for a moment more. Then it turned and slowly, noiselessly paced back into the shadows. When Gilligan looked down again, he saw that the hunter's body had vanished. Even the grass grew straight and undisturbed, as though he had never been there at all.

Gilligan gave a great sigh and stroked the margay, marveling at how the black patterns on its coat looked like moonlight dappling the jungle floor. "Gosh, you were brave," he murmured. Suddenly Gilligan saw that the little beast's wound had healed over into a dark scar. "Hey! Look at that! The Skipper was right. You are going to be okay!" He drew back to look into its large eyes and smiled. "And now I think we'd better find the Skipper. He's probably worried sick about us!" Gently he lifted the margay and started walking back in the direction of the pool. "Skipper? Skipper? Where are you?"

"Gilligan!"

Gilligan gasped and sat up. It was morning, and he was beside the mango pool. Golden sunbeams glowed above the turquoise water, dappling the tender green of the trees. He looked over to where the Skipper sat nearby, peeling a mango with Gilligan's pocket knife.

"You looked so peaceful I didn't want to wake you. But then you started calling to me." The Skipper put down the mango. "You didn't have another nightmare, did you?"

"No. No, it was okay. I--" Gilligan suddenly looked around. "Hey, where's the little guy?"

"What, you mean the cat? I never saw him."

Gilligan crawled over to peer into the bushes. "But I was sure that he – hey!"

"What is it, little buddy?"

Gilligan lifted a square of tied cloth from the thick brush. "It's my handkerchief! The one I used to bandage the margay with! He must have pulled it off!"

"Oh. Well, if he did, maybe he really is okay."

Gilligan untied the handkerchief and shook it out. Then he turned it around and around, staring at it. "But where's the bloodstain? It's clean!" Gilligan looked up in confusion. "Did you wash it out, Skipper?"

"Me? No. I didn't even know it was there."

"But…" Gilligan closed his fingers over the piece of cloth. "That's impossible. I only dreamed his wound was all healed up! Like I dreamed that you left me during the night, Skipper." He looked up again. "Did you?" he asked hesitantly.

The Skipper's eyebrows rose and he smiled fondly. "Now that's a pretty dumb question, little buddy. Even for you."