Dr. Trendon went on deck, his head sunk between his shoulders. For a
minute he was in earnest talk with the captain. Presently the
_Wolverine_'s engines slowed down, and she lay head to the waves,
with just enough turn of the screw to hold her against the sea-way.

VII

THE FREE LANCE

By the following afternoon Dr. Trendon reported his patient as quite
recovered.

"Starved for water," proffered the surgeon. "Tissues fairly dried out.
Soaked him up. Fed him broth. Put him to sleep. He's all right. Just
wakes up to eat; then off again like a two-year old. Wonderful
constitution."

"The gentleman wants to know if he can come on deck, sir," saluted an
orderly.

"Waked up, eh. Come on, Barnett. Help me boost him on deck."

The two officers disappeared to return in a moment arm-in-arm with Ralph
Slade.

Nearly twenty-four hours' rest and skilful treatment had done wonders. He
was still a trifle weak and uncertain, was still a little glad to lean on
the arms of his companions, but his eye was bright and alert, and his
hollow cheeks mounted a slight colour. This, with the clothes lent him by
Barnett, transformed his appearance, and led Captain Parkinson to
congratulate himself that he had not obeyed his first impulse to send the
castaway forward with the men.

The officers pressed forward.

"Mighty glad to see you out." "Hope you've got your pins under you
again." "Old man, I'm mighty glad we came along."

The chorus of greeting was hearty enough, but the journalist barely paid
the courtesy of acknowledgment. His eye swept the horizon eagerly until
it rested on the cloud of volcanic smoke billowing up across the setting
sun. A sigh of relief escaped him.

"Where are we?" he asked Barnett. "I mean since you picked me up. How
long ago was that, anyway?"

"Yesterday," replied the navigating officer. "We've stood off and on,
looking for some of our men."

"Then that's the same volcano----"

Barnett laughed softly. "Well, they aren't quite holding a caucus of
volcanoes down in this country. One like that is enough."

But Slade brushed the remark aside.

"Head for it!" he cried excitedly. "We may be in time! There's a man on
that island."

"A man!" "Another!" "Not Billy Edwards?" "Not some of our boys?"

Slade stared at them bewildered.

"Hold on," interposed Dr. Trendon authoritatively. "What's his name?" he
inquired of the journalist.

"Darrow," replied the latter. "Percy Darrow. Do you know