who had patiently followed them westwards till
he came across the tracks of Eben McClure when he prepared to swim
across to the island from the point of Orraland.

The days went slowly for Eben and Stair, who were waiting for the neaps
and the coming of the _Good Intent_. They sped fast for Patsy, who now
ran unashamed about the island with Stair's hand in hers. Never had
there been such a companion. Never had she been so happy.

What troubled the men most was the failure of Whitefoot to return. To
account for this, Stair had invented a score of reasons, in none of
which he believed himself. It was now Thursday and the day after next,
or more exactly during the early morning of Friday, they would see the
middle of the neaps. If at all the ridge would be fully uncovered then,
and in the absence of a strong south-wester (which now seemed unlikely),
the track might remain uncovered for a couple of hours.

All that day there had been unusual semaphore signallings and wavings of
flags on the heights facing the island; but Stair, anxious to keep Patsy
ignorant and happy as long as possible, still hesitated to tell her.
They had gone down to Leg-o'-Mutton Bay where the shells they called by
that name were to be found. An absolute silence reigned as they stood
together looking out towards the sunset playing on Screel and Ben Gairn,
till, with the tail of his eye Stair saw something moving along the
ridge above them.

He turned swiftly, and there was Whitefoot, but a Whitefoot who dragged
one foot painfully after the other, yet who, at sight of his master,
wagged his great tail and gave vent to his old "_Aaa-uch_" of joy. The
dog tried to bound towards them, but he had overestimated his strength.
He toppled forward, whereupon Stair ran to him and carried him down in
his arms. There was a bullet-hole behind his shoulder, but in spite of
that the dog had swam the strait to find his master.

Stair laid him down and Patsy hastily tore off the flounce of a dress to
bind about the wound. Stair took off his coat and wrapped Whitefoot in
it. But he was not easy, shaking his head and turning it about to
indicate that he had some message which must be delivered immediately.
To quiet him, Stair undid the collar and pulled out a little square
missive.

_"The 'Good Intent' will be with you and send a boat Friday morning!"_

As soon as Whitefoot saw the white half sheet in Stair's hands, he
crawled a little farther up on his master's