ng to take her out."

This time it was he who got the wetting and who announced with
chattering teeth the need of a fire.

"A little splash like that!" Sprague chattered spitefully. "We'll go
on."

"Shorty, dig out my clothes-bag and make a fire," the other commanded.

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Sprague cried.

Shorty looked from one to the other, expectorated, but did not move.

"He's working for me, and I guess he obeys my orders," Stine retorted.
"Shorty, take that bag ashore."

Shorty obeyed, and Sprague shivered in the boat. Kit, having received no
orders, remained inactive, glad of the rest.

"A boat divided against itself won't float," he soliloquized.

"What's that?" Sprague snarled at him.

"Talking to myself--habit of mine," he answered.

His employer favoured him with a hard look, and sulked several minutes
longer. Then he surrendered.

"Get out my bag, Smoke," he ordered, "and lend a hand with that fire. We
won't get off till morning now."

Next day the gale still blew. Lake Linderman was no more than a narrow
mountain gorge filled with water. Sweeping down from the mountains
through this funnel, the wind was irregular, blowing great guns at times
and at other times dwindling to a strong breeze.

"If you give me a shot at it, I think I can get her off," Kit said, when
all was ready for the start.

"What do you know about it?" Stine snapped at him.

"Search me," Kit answered, and subsided.

It was the first time he had worked for wages in his life, but he was
learning the discipline of it fast. Obediently and cheerfully he joined
in various vain efforts to get clear of the beach.

"How would you go about it?" Sprague finally half panted, half whined at
him.

"Sit down and get a good rest till a lull comes in the wind, and then
buck in for all we're worth."

Simple as the idea was, he had been the first to evolve it; the first
time it was applied it worked, and they hoisted a blanket to the mast
and sped down the lake. Stine and Sprague immediately became cheerful.
Shorty, despite his chronic pessimism, was always cheerful, and Kit
was too interested to be otherwise. Sprague struggled with the
steering-sweep for a quarter of an hour, and then looked appealingly at
Kit, who relieved him.

"My arms are fairly broken with the strain of it," Sprague muttered
apologetically.

"You never ate bear-meat, did you?" Kit asked sympathetically.

"What the devil do you mean?"

"Oh, n