gravel and virgin forest. Besides, I heard the blame insect telling
Miss Hamilton that nobody not raised in the hog-pen could drink my
coffee."

It seemed to Nasmyth that there was a little reason in the skipper's
observations, though he thought that Martial's strictures upon the
coffee accounted for most of them.

"I guess it might have been wiser if Martial had kept on good terms
with the skipper," he laughingly rejoined.

George chuckled softly. "Well," he declared, "when anyone up and says
my coffee's only fit for the hog-pen, I'm going to get even with him.
I kind of feel I have to. It's up to me."

He said nothing further for some little time, and Nasmyth, who fancied
that he would sooner or later carry out his amiable intentions, lay
prone upon the deck smoking placidly. Nasmyth was one who adapted
himself to his environment with readiness, and on board the _Tillicum_
the environment was particularly comfortable. Through Acton's
hospitality, he was brought into contact with the luxuries of
civilization without the galling restraints. Miss Hamilton had been
gracious to him of late. That was a cause for satisfaction in itself.
The days when he swung the heavy axe, or, drenched with icy water,
stood gripping the drill had slipped far away behind him. For the
time, at least, he could bask in the sunshine with ears stopped
against the shrill trumpet-call to action that he had heard in the
crash of rent trees and the turmoil of the wild flood.

A faint cry came from the shore out of the stillness of the woods, and
George listened carefully.

"That can't be the boss. Guess he's stopping at the hotel," he said.
"It's quite likely it's that blame insect Martial coming back. Those
ranchers he has been trying to freeze off their holding have no use
for him."

The cry rose again, a trifle louder, and George nodded complacently.

"Oh, yes," he exulted, "it's Martial sure! We'll let him howl. Any
way, he can walk down the beach until he's abreast of us. When anybody
expects me to hear him, he has got to come within half a mile."

It seemed to Nasmyth that Martial would not have a pleasant walk in
the dark, for most of the beach lay in the black shadow of the pines,
and beneath highwater mark was covered with the roughest kind of
boulders. Above the tide-line, a ragged mass of driftwood interspersed
with undergrowth separated the water from the tangled Bush. Both
George and Nasmyth were aware that one could readily t