the ladder.

"Hi! Sartoris," roared the Pilot. "If you go aboard that vessel, you'll
stay there till she's got a clean bill o' health."

"I'm going to help my old shipmate," answered Sartoris from the top of
the ladder. "Turn and turn about, I says. He stood by me in the West
Indies, when I had Yellow Jack; and I stand by him now." As he spoke his
foot was on the main-rail. He jumped into the waist of the quarantined
barque, and was lost to sight.

"Whew!" said the Pilot to the vessel's side. "Here's a man just saved
from shipwreck, and he must plunge into a fever-den in order to be
happy. I wash my hands of such foolishness. Let 'im go, let 'im go."

The thin, neat doctor appeared, standing on the main-rail. He handed his
bag to one of the boat's crew, and slowly descended the ladder.

"An' what have you done with Sartoris?" asked the Pilot.

"He's aboard," replied the doctor, "and there he stops. That's all I can
say."

"And what's the sickness?"

"Ten men are dead, five more are down--two women, Chinese, and three
men. I should call it fever, a kind of barbiers or beri-beri. But in
the meanwhile, I'll take another drop of your excellent liquor."

The doctor drank the Pilot's medicine in complete silence.

"Let go that rope!" roared Summerhayes. "Shove her off. Up with your
sail." The trim boat shot towards the sunny port of Timber Town, and
Sartoris was left aboard the fever-ship.

CHAPTER IX.

What Looked Like Courting.

On the terrace of the Pilot's house was a garden-seat, on which sat Rose
Summerhayes and Scarlett.

Rose was looking at her dainty shoe, the point of which protruded from
beneath her skirt; while Scarlett's eyes were fixed on the magnificent
panorama of mountains which stretched north and south as far as he could
see.

Behind the grass-covered foot-hills, at whose base crouched the little
town, there stood bolder and more rugged heights. In rear of these rose
the twin forest-clad tops of an enormous mountain mass, on either side
of which stretched pinnacled ranges covered with primeval "bush."

Scarlett was counting hill and mountain summits. His enumeration had
reached twenty distinct heights, when, losing count, he turned to his
companion.

"It's a lovely picture to have in front of your door," he said, "a
picture that never tires the eye."

A break in the centre of the foot-hills suddenly attracted his
attention. It was the gorge through which a rippling, sparkling