canoe belong you?" he
demanded.

The old salt-water chief rolled his one eye and blinked a fair simulation
of stupidity and innocence.

"My word, me cross along you too much," Van Horn continued. "Ishikola,
you plenty bad fella boy. You get 'm to hell overside."

The old fellow limped across the deck with more agility than he had
displayed coming aboard, straddled the barbed wire without assistance,
and without assistance dropped into the canoe, cleverly receiving his
weight on his uninjured leg. He blinked up for forgiveness and in
reassertion of innocence. Van Horn turned his face aside to hide a grin,
and then grinned outright when the old rascal, showing his empty pipe,
wheedled up:

"Suppose 'm five stick tobacco you give 'm along me?"

While Borckman went below for the tobacco, Van Horn orated to Ishikola on
the sacred solemnity of truth and promises. Next, he leaned across the
barbed wire and handed down the five sticks of tobacco.

"My word," he threatened. "Somo day, Ishikola, I finish along you
altogether. You no good friend stop along salt-water. You big fool stop
along bush."

When Ishikola attempted protest, he shut him off with, "My word, you
gammon along me too much."

Still the canoe lingered. The dandy's toe strayed privily to feel out
the butts of the Sniders under the green leaves, and Ishikola was loth to
depart.

"Washee-washee!" Van Horn cried with imperative suddenness.

The paddlers, without command from chief or dandy, involuntarily obeyed,
and with deep, strong strokes sent the canoe into the encircling
darkness. Just as quickly Van Horn changed his position on deck to the
tune of a dozen yards, so that no hazarded bullet might reach him. He
crouched low and listened to the wash of paddles fade away in the
distance.

"All right, you fella Tambi," he ordered quietly. "Make 'm music he
fella walk about."

And while "Red Wing" screeched its cheap and pretty rhythm, he reclined
elbow on deck, smoked his cigar, and gathered Jerry into caressing
inclosure.

As he smoked he watched the abrupt misting of the stars by a rain-squall
that made to windward or to where windward might vaguely be configured.
While he gauged the minutes ere he must order Tambi below with the
phonograph and records, he noted the bush-girl gazing at him in dumb
fear. He nodded consent with half-closed eyes and up-tilting face,
clinching his consent with a wave of hand toward the companionway. She