r side, two girls
were fishing for shrimps. The taller of the two, a curly-haired,
red-cheeked girl of eighteen, was rowing. The other, short and rather
chubby, now and again lifted a pocket net of wire-screening, and,
shaking a score or more of slimy, snapping creatures into one corner of
it, gave a dexterous twist and neatly dropped the squirming mass into a
tin bucket.

Both girls had the clear, ruddy complexion which comes from clean
living and frequent sallies into the out-of-doors. Lucile Tucker, the
tall one of curly hair, was by nature a student; her cousin, Marian
Norton, had been born for action and adventure, and was something of an
artist as well.

"Look!" exclaimed Lucile suddenly. "What's that out at the entrance of
the bay--a bit of drift or a seal?"

"Might be a seal. Watch it bob. It moves, I'd say."

Without further comment Lucile lifted a light rifle from the bow and
passed it to her cousin.

Marian stood with one knee braced on the seat and steadied herself for
a shot at the object which continued to rise and fall with the low roll
of the sea.

Born and reared at Nome on the barren tundra of Alaska, Marian had
hunted rabbits, ptarmigan and even caribou and white wolves with her
father in her early teens. She was as steady and sure a shot as most
boys of her age.

"Boat rocks so," she grumbled. "More waves out there, too. Watch the
thing bob!"

"It's gone under!"

"No, there it is!"

"Try it now."

Catching her breath, Marian put her finger to the trigger. For a
second the boat was quiet. The brown spot hung on the crest of a
wavelet. It was a beautiful target; Marian was sure of her aim.

Just as her finger touched the trigger, a strange thing happened; a
something which sent the rifle clattering from nerveless fingers and
set the cold perspiration springing to her forehead.

A flash of white had suddenly appeared close to the brown spot, a slim
white line against the blue-green of the sea. It was a human arm.

"Who--who--where'd you suppose he came from?" she was at last able to
sputter.

"Don't ask me," said Lucile, scanning the sea. Never a mist nor a
cloud obscured the vision, yet not a sail nor coil of smoke spoke of
near-by craft. "What's more important is, we must help him," she said,
seizing the oars and rowing vigorously. Marian, having hung the shrimp
trap across the bow, drew a second pair of oars from beneath the seats
and joined her in sending the cl