e. We have
different ideas about hospitality."

"Very likely," said Ambrose coolly. "Good night!"

When his visitor rode away Ambrose turned with relief to his dog. The
sight of Job's honest ugliness was good to him.

"He's a cur, Job!" he said strongly. "A snake in the grass! An oily
scoundrel! I don't know how I know it, but I know it! A square man
would have punched me the way I talked to him."

Job wagged his tail in entire approval of his master's judgment.
Ambrose turned in, feeling better for having spoken his mind.

Nevertheless, as he lay waiting for sleep it occurred to him that he
had been somewhat hasty. After all, he had nothing to go on. And,
supposing Strange were what he thought him, how foolish he, Ambrose,
had been to show his band.

If he had been craftier he might have learned things of value for him
to know. Following this unsatisfactory train of thought, he fell
asleep.

CHAPTER XI.

ALEXANDER SELKIRK AND FAMILY.

Again Ambrose was awakened by a furious barking from Job. It was even
earlier than on the preceding morning. The sun was not up; the river
was like a gray ghost.

Ambrose, expecting Tole, looked for a dugout. There was none in sight.
Job's agitated barks were addressed in the other direction.

Issuing from his tent, Ambrose beheld a quaint little man squatting on
top of the bank like an image. He had an air of strange patience, as
if he had been waiting for hours, and expected to wait.

His brown mask of a face changed not a line at the sight of Ambrose.

"What do you want?" demanded the white man.

"Please, I want spik wit' you," the little man softly replied.

"Come down here then," said Ambrose.

The early caller looked at Job apprehensively. Ambrose silenced the
dog with a command, and the man came slowly down the bank, cringing a
little.

The quaintness of aspect was largely due to the fact that he wore a
coat and trousers originally designed for a tall, stout man. Ambrose
suspected he had a child to deal with until he saw the wrinkles and the
sophisticated eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I Alexander Selkirk, me," was the answer.

Ambrose could not but smile at the misapplication of the sonorous
Scotch name to such a manikin.

"You Ambrose Doane?" the other said solemnly.

"Everybody seems to know me," said Ambrose.

Alexander stared at him with a sullen, walled, speculative regard,
exactly, Ambrose thought, like a schoolboy faci