In the shadowy hut the two men saw a wiry shape writhing in the top hammock. The Skipper rushed over as Mr. Howell groped about in the darkness. "Captain! We need a little light on the subject!"

"There's a candle and matches on the table!"

The Skipper caught Gilligan's shoulders and tried to keep him from falling to the ground. "That sleeping drug's just not strong enough! He's dreaming again!"

There was a hiss and the sharp smell of a sulphur match; a moment later Gilligan's tormented features leaped up in the flickering candlelight. "Don't touch me!" Gilligan shivered and twisted away from the Skipper's hands. "Stay away from me!"

The Skipper shrank back, dismayed, but Mr. Howell laid a hand on his shoulder. When the Skipper turned, Mr. Howell offered him the lit candle in its empty rum-bottle holder. "Here, Captain. Let me speak to him."

The Skipper hesitated for a moment as the old jealousy returned.

"Mr. Howell! Please!"

That did it. The Skipper grabbed the candle and moved back as Mr. Howell approached the first mate.

With gentle firmness Mr. Howell took hold of Gilligan's shoulders. "I'm here, my boy," he soothed in his most mellifluous voice. "Thurston Howell the Third is here. Don't be afraid."

"Mr. Howell," Gilligan murmured, his eyes still closed in a drugged half-sleep. He stopped struggling, but his voice was still tense with fear. "Help me!"

"I will, my boy. You know I will. But I need you to do your part as well. This is a joint venture, you see, Gilligan. It's terribly important that you tell me what happened the night you were a prisoner: as much as you can."

"Don't...want to," Gilligan whispered, shivering.

"I'll be right here, son. You shan't face this alone. Will you try?"

Gilligan nodded slowly, eyes still shut, and Mr. Howell smiled. "That's my brave lad. Now then: listen carefully. Do you recall when I tried to pay Kinkaid to let you go, only the bounder refused?"

"...so much money..."

Mr. Howell huffed a little in embarrassment. "Nonsense, my boy. Mere pocket change. I can find that much beneath the seat cushion of my chaise! But do you remember how I left, and then you cried out?"

" 'cause Ramoo..." Gilligan's face contorted and he twisted away.

"Forgive me for making you remember, my boy," muttered Mr. Howell. "The man was a wretch - and a fool as well, trying to take advantage of you right under Kinkaid's nose! But whatever Ramoo did, it could only have taken a split second. I know I came rushing back the instant I heard you!"

Gilligan shook his head helplessly. "I yelled for the Skipper...but he didn't come!"

Mr. Howell didn't dare look back at the Skipper; the wildly wavering shadows of the candle flame and the muffled groan from behind him said enough. "Now then, Gilligan. That's hardly fair," said Mr. Howell quietly. "I explained to you why the Captain couldn't be there."

There was a pause. Then, "Oh...my gosh, that's right...the girls...Mr. Kinkaid said...no choice..."

"Precisely."

From behind Mr. Howell came a quivering sigh of relief, and the shadows stilled.

Mr. Howell continued. "The Captain and the girls are fine, Gilligan. But let's get back to that night. Now – do you recall when I came back? What happened then?"

"You told me, 'don't worry.' Won't leave..."

"That's right, my boy. Because I knew as well as you did that Ramoo had worse things in mind."

Gilligan shook his head. "Why did he?" he whispered in confusion and guilt. "Did I do something? Did I make him think..."

"Of course not!" Mr. Howell spoke more forcefully than he meant to, and at once lowered his voice to a more gentle tone. "Of course not. No more than you invited Kinkaid to hunt you. They were simply two of a kind, Gilligan, feeding on the fear and pain of others. You didn't do a thing to bring any of this on. None of us did."

Gilligan let out a deep sigh.

Mr. Howell patted his arm reassuringly, an echo of the gesture he had made in the hut while Ramoo stood glowering by. "Now, think back. After you'd calmed down a little, Kinkaid wanted me to leave again. And Ramoo wanted him to leave, so that he could be alone with you."

Gilligan shuddered.

"Think back, Gilligan. Was Ramoo ever alone with you? Did he come near you again after I spoke with Kinkaid?" In the pause that followed, the millionaire was certain he could hear his own heart pounding.

At last Gilligan spoke with simple, quiet relief. "No."

There was a sudden heavy creak, a sigh that was like a typhoon, and the candle flame went out. Mr. Howell turned in the darkness, waiting, until the spark from a match flared up as the Skipper lit the candle again. The big sailor was slumped in a chair beside the wooden table, one hand clutching the candle-holder like a life-preserver. He waved the match out, breathing slowly like a man learning to breathe all over again.

With a fervent sigh of his own, Mr. Howell turned back to Gilligan. "You've no idea how glad I am to hear that, son."

Gilligan frowned a little. "You...made Mr. Kinkaid sore... Said Ramoo lied to him. Said...he'd have no sport. Mr. Kinkaid...was real mad. At you and Ramoo."

"Yes, I know, my boy."

"He threatened you. But you... wouldn't go." Gilligan's voice was full of wonder. "...so brave..."

"Oh, my gosh," came a whisper from behind them. Mr. Howell looked back again to see the Skipper staring back at him, an ocean of gratitude glimmering in his eyes. Gently waving him to be quiet, the millionaire turned back to Gilligan again.

"My boy, I don't mind telling you I was trembling in my patent leather wingtips. Fortunately, as far as acting is concerned, I'll wager I could give Ginger a run for her money!"

"Ginger..." whispered Gilligan. "She came after...tried to fool Kinkaid...but I drank...drug..."

The Skipper suddenly stared straight ahead, like a man who sees the beam of a lighthouse through the fog. "Of course! Ginger! She was there right after you were, Mr. Howell! She said Kinkaid was with Gilligan, but Ramoo was outside. And then Gilligan knocked himself out! Ramoo couldn't have hurt him!" He looked up at Mr. Howell. "Oh, Mr. Howell, how could I have been so stupid?"

Mr. Howell smiled and gestured in dismissal, but then paused for a moment and looked back at the still semi-conscious first mate. "Gilligan, my boy, I don't understand. If nothing happened – I mean if Ramoo never got to carry out his plot – why these dreadful nightmares?"

"...was so scared..." whispered Gilligan.

Mr. Howell sighed. "Of course. Those two were enough to give anyone nightmares. But I'm sure if you spoke to the Captain about it—"

Gilligan shook his head desperately. "No!"

The millionaire was perplexed. "But what's to prevent you?"

"...can't tell him...wouldn't understand..." Gilligan whispered wretchedly. "...so big, so strong...nobody'd try that on him!"

Mr. Howell turned to beckon to the Skipper, but the Skipper had already burst from his chair. In two strides he was at the hammock as Mr. Howell stepped back. "Little buddy, I'm here. I heard everything! What do you mean I wouldn't understand?"

"Skipper?" Gilligan whispered.

The Skipper's voice broke. "Gilligan, how could you even think I'd blame you for something like this?"

"You mean...you don't?"

"Of course not, you knucklehead!" The hoarse words were filled with tenderness as the Skipper took hold of Gilligan's shoulders again. Gilligan did not fight him. "It wasn't your fault! It could've happened to anybody! But you survived that hunt, when a lot of other men couldn't have, little buddy! I take my hat off to you! I really mean that!"

"...Skipper..."

"And if you need to talk about anything that happened, and I mean anything, you do that! You wake me up in the middle of the night if you have to! That's an order!"

"...Oh, Skipper...thank you..." Gilligan's head shifted on the pillow, and his whole body relaxed.

Mr. Howell spoke up. "Go back to sleep now, my boy. And if Ramoo comes prowling about your dreams anymore, just remember: you fought him off once. And the Skipper and I will be there. Always."

The first mate's breathing gradually eased, and he spoke no more. Silently the Skipper pulled up the brown blanket and tucked it 'round him.

"By George. I wish it were that easy to dispel the ghost of Jonathan Kinkaid," Mr. Howell murmured sadly. "But that fiend did far more to him than Ramoo did. It'll be a long, hard road back for him, I'm afraid."

"For awhile there tonight, I was afraid he wouldn't make it back at all." The Skipper twisted his hands. "After all these years of being buddies! How could he think I'd blame him?"

"I think it's just as you said earlier, Captain. How does a man admit to something like that? Kinkaid trampled his dignity enough, treating him like a hunted animal. Gilligan's going to have to gather the pieces back one by one." Mr. Howell looked keenly at the Skipper. "And that's why I suggest we keep this whole business our little secret, Captain. At least from the ladies, for the time being."

"Why just them?"

"Well, I imagine the Professor might have some good advice for us. He has dabbled in psychology, I believe. But Gilligan might be more embarrassed to have the women know, especially if he felt compromised as a man. I think we should let it be his decision to tell them, if and when he's ready."

The Skipper nodded slowly. "I get your point." He sighed a little. "I sure wish I could tell them all what a hero you are, though."

"Oh, pooh, Captain. I merely played a rather inventive game of poker, that's all." Mr. Howell looked down fondly at Gilligan's sleeping form. "But I couldn't have done otherwise. I've never met anyone who's taught me so much about the good in humanity, excepting my dear wife. I could never have faced her if I'd allowed him to come to harm." Suddenly a sad smile stole over the millionaire's face. "By Jove. Remember back in the old days, Captain, when we used to use the boy as a pawn in our little power struggles? The presidential campaign? The oil company? That ridiculous turtle race?"

The Skipper nodded, shamefaced. "'Guess we're two of a kind too, huh?"

Mr. Howell snorted. "Indeed, Captain. What a hand Fate's dealt the boy! The two of us as champions! He might as well have folded long ago." The millionaire shook his head as he regarded his one-time rival. "And yet...even the weakest hand can win in the hands of a skilled player. And only the very best player could have softened the likes of you and me."

The Skipper nodded, looking down at his first mate. "You can say that again."

Mr. Howell patted Gilligan's arm once more, then looked for the non-existent watch on his wrist. "Oh, my word, I wonder what the time is? I do hope poor Lovey isn't waiting up for me. Perhaps I ought to be heading back to beddy-bye." As he turned to go, Mr. Howell suddenly spotted the mangled remains of the crew's other chair on the floor. "I say, Captain! What on earth happened to your chair?"

"Oh..." the Skipper thought fast. "You know Gilligan. He can break something just by looking at it! I'll just get another one from outside."

"Jolly good," said Mr. Howell, with infinite tact. He started towards the door, but the Skipper caught him by the arm.

"Mr. Howell! Wait a minute. I gotta apologize for what happened before. I was way out of line. But you've gotta understand – I was out of my mind."

"Of course I understand," said Mr. Howell gently. "Say no more about it."

"Gosh, I...well...gosh, you sure are a swell guy. I mean that, you know."

"Please, Captain, my blushes. Why don't you save it for my funeral – though come to think of it, you have already given me the nicest funeral a man ever had," said Mr. Howell.

The joke caught the Skipper off guard, and he found himself in danger of blushing at the memory of his heartfelt eulogy. But now, as then, he let his full heart speak. He gripped Mr. Howell's arm tightly. "Well...I want to tell you, Mr. Howell, I never meant it half as much as I do right now. I know you and I've locked oars more than once, but that was a long time ago. I - I'm never gonna be able to thank you enough for what you did for my little buddy."

"Captain, I—"

"No, I want to say this," the Skipper insisted. "You protected him when I couldn't. If you were my own brother, you'd couldn't have done more for him – or for me. I'm gonna owe you for that for the rest of my life."

Mr. Howell laughed gently as he shook the Skipper's hand in return. "I tell you what. Pay me off in letting the boy caddy for me more often, instead of making him do all of those dreary chores. He quite enjoys it, you know."

The Skipper actually managed a brief chuckle as he relinquished Mr. Howell's hand and clapped him on the shoulder. "Whatever you say." He reached over and turned his chair to face the hammocks.

"Not turning in yet, Captain?"

"No." The Skipper settled himself down. "Think I'll watch my little buddy for awhile yet. At least until that drug wears off. Maybe he'll want to talk when he wakes up."

"Let's keep our fingers crossed. How long will that potion take to wear off, anyhow?"

"Couple of hours, at least."

"Hmmm." Mr. Howell paused with his hand on the bamboo door, looking at the sleeping form of the first mate. "You know, I don't feel much like sleeping either. This hasn't exactly been the most pleasant trip down memory lane, has it?"

"You're telling me." The Skipper shook his head. "I could sure use a good stiff drink."

"So could I. But I simply can't stand to drink alone. Why don't I fetch a bottle of my private stock? Eight-year-old Crown Royal!"

"Boy, you've got taste. That's the best Scotch there is! Count me in!"

"I could even rummage about for a deck of cards." Mr. Howell raised a challenging eyebrow. "What do you say? Care for a little game of chance?"

A wry smile lit the Skipper's tired face. "Huh. With an old cardsharp like you? Well...only if I get to deal!"

Mr. Howell grinned in delight. "And I'll cut. Splendid."

The Skipper gave a soft snort, then reached over and put two coconut cups on the table. "What about the stakes? I know the way you play, Howell: winner take all!"

Mr. Howell looked back at Gilligan and smiled gently. "Ah, Captain. I think in this case, we've both already won."