river. The chastiser was returning
to the cabin, when Mart fired his rifle. The man stopped short, saw the
emigrants, and waved his hand. He dismounted and came to the edge of the
water. They could hear he was shouting to them, but it was too far for
the words to carry. From a certain reiterated cadence, he seemed to be
saying one thing. John and Mart tried to show they did not understand,
and indicated their wagon, walking to it and getting aboard. On that the
stranger redoubled his signs and shootings, ran to the cabin, where he
opened and shut the door several times, came back, and pointed to the
hills.

"He's going away, and can't ferry us over," said Mrs. Clallam.

"And the other man thought he'd gone," said Nancy, "and he came and
caught him in his house."

"This don't suit me," Clallam remarked. "Mart, we'll go to the shore and
talk to him."

When the man saw them descending the hill, he got on his horse and swam
the stream. It carried him below, but he was waiting for them when they
reached the level. He was tall, shambling, and bony, and roved over them
with a pleasant, restless eye.

"Good-morning," said he. "Fine weather. I was baptized Edward Wilson,
but you inquire for Wild-Goose Jake. Them other names are retired and
pensioned. I expect you seen me kick him?"

"Couldn't help seeing."

"Oh, I ain't blamin' you, son, not a bit, I ain't. He can't bile water
without burnin' it, and his toes turns in, and he's blurry round the
finger-nails. He's jest kultus, he is. Hev some?" With a furtive smile
that often ran across his lips, he pulled out a flat bottle, and all
took an acquaintanceship swallow, while the Clallams explained their
journey. "How many air there of yu' slidin' down the hill?" he inquired,
shifting his eye to the wagon.

"I've got my wife and little girl up there. That's all of us."

"Ladies along! Then I'll step behind this bush." He was dragging his
feet from his waterlogged boots. "Hear them suck now?" he commented.
"Didn't hev to think about a wetting onced. But I ain't young any more.
There, I guess I ain't caught a chill." He had whipped his breeches off
and spread them on the sand. "Now you arrive down this here hill from
Ioway, and says you: 'Where's that ferry? 'Ain't we hit the right
spot?' Well, that's what you hev hit. You're all right, and the spot is
hunky-dory, and it's the durned old boat hez made the mistake, begosh!
A cloud busted in this country, and she tore out fer