ckon some day I'll pull my freight for a clean location and
settle down there and make little poems. This place would about content
me. And there's a spot out in California in the Coast ranges that I've
been keeping my eye on,' The odd thing was that I believe he meant it.
His ugly face was lit up with a serious delight.

He told me he had taken this voyage before, so I got out Baddely and
asked for advice. 'I can't spend too much time on holidaying,' I told
him, 'and I want to see all the beauty spots. But the best of them seem
to be in the area that this fool British Government won't let you into
without a passport. I suppose I shall have to leave you at Oban.'

'Too bad,' he said sympathetically. 'Well, they tell me there's some
pretty sights round Oban.' And he thumbed the guide-book and began to
read about Glencoe.

I said that was not my purpose, and pitched him a yarn about Prince
Charlie and how my mother's great-grandfather had played some kind of
part in that show. I told him I wanted to see the place where the
Prince landed and where he left for France. 'So far as I can make out
that won't take me into the passport country, but I'll have to do a bit
of footslogging. Well, I'm used to padding the hoof. I must get the
captain to put me off in Morvern, and then I can foot it round the top
of Lochiel and get back to Oban through Appin. How's that for a holiday
trek?'

He gave the scheme his approval. 'But if it was me, Mr Brand, I would
have a shot at puzzling your gallant policemen. You and I don't take
much stock in Governments and their two-cent laws, and it would be a
good game to see just how far you could get into the forbidden land. A
man like you could put up a good bluff on those hayseeds. I don't mind
having a bet ...'

'No,' I said. 'I'm out for a rest, and not for sport. If there was
anything to be gained I'd undertake to bluff my way to the Orkney
Islands. But it's a wearing job and I've better things to think about.'

'So? Well, enjoy yourself your own way. I'll be sorry when you leave
us, for I owe you something for that rough-house, and beside there's
darned little company in the old moss-back captain.'

That evening Gresson and I swopped yarns after supper to the
accompaniment of the 'Ma Goad!' and 'Is't possible?' of captain and
mate. I went to bed after a glass or two of weak grog, and made up for
the last night's vigil by falling sound asleep. I had very little kit
with me, beyond what