6
Two or Three Small Fish Lay Faintly Wriggling on the Surface.
SYNOPSIS.
The story opens with the shipwreck of
tlm steamer on which Miss Genevieve
I.< sll*», an American heiress, Lord Win
thrope, an Knglishinan, ami Tom Blake,
a brusque American, were passengers.
The three wire tossed upon an unin
habited island and were the only ones
not drowned. Blake recovered from a
drunken stupor. Blake, shunned on the
boat, because of his roughness, became
h hero as preserver of the helpless pair.
The Englishman was suing for the hand
Of Miss Leslie.
CHAPTER ll.—Continued.
"Oh, but Mr. Blake, I am sure It
must be a mistake; I am sure that if
It is explained to papa—"
"Yes; we'll cable papa to-night.
Meantime, we've something else to do.
Suppose you two get a hustle on your
selves, and scrape up somethingx, to
eat, I'm going out to see what's left
»112 that blamed old tub."
"Surely you'll not venture to swim
out so fan!" protested Winthrope. "I
saw the steamer sink as we cast off."
"Looks like a mast sticking up out
there. Maybe some of the rigging Is
loose."
"But the sharks! These waters
Bwarm with the vile creatures. You
must not risk your life!"
"'Cause why? If I do, the babes In
the woods will be left without even
the robins to cover them, poor things!
But cheer up!—maybe the mud-hens
Will do it with lovely water-lilies."
"Please, Mr. Blake, do not be so
cruel!" sobbed Miss Leslie, her tears
starting afresh. "The sun makes my
head ache dreadfully, and I have no
hat or shade, and I'm becoming so
thirsty!"
"And you think you've only to wait,
and half a dozen stewards will come
running with parasols and ice water.
Neither you nor Winthrope seem to
've got your eyes open. Just suppose
you get busy and do something. Win
thrope, chase yourself over the mud,
and get together a mess of fish that
are not too dead. Must be dozens, aft
the blow. As for you, Miss Jenny, I
guess you can pick up some reeds and
rig a headgear out of this handker
chief— Wait a moment. Put on my
coat, if you don't want to be broiled
alive through the holes of that peek-a
--boo."
"But I say, Blake —" began Win
thrope.
"Don't say—do!" rejoined Blake;
and he started down the muddy shore.
Though the tide was at flood, there
was now no cyclone to drive the sea
above the beach, and Blake walked a
quarter of a mile before he reached
the water's edge. There was little
surf, and he paused only a few mo
ments to peer out across the low
swells before he commenced to strip.
Winthrope and Miss Leslie had been
•watching his movements; now the
girl rose in a little flurry of haste,
and set to gathering reeds. Winthrope
would have spoken, but, seeing her
embarrassment, smiled to himself, and
began strolling about in search of fish.
It was no difficult search. The
marshy ground was strewn with dead
sea-creatures, many of which were al
ready shriveling and drying in the
«un. Some of the fish had a familiar
look, and Winthrope turned them over
with the tip of his shoe. He even
went so far as to stoop to pick up a
large mullet; but shrank back, re
pulsed by its stiffness and the unnat
ural shape into which the sun was
warping it.
He found himself near the beach,
and stood for half an hour or more
watching the black dot far out in the
water—all that was to be seen of
Blake. The American, after wading
off-shore another quarter of a mile,
had reached swimming depth, and was
heading out among the reefs with
steady, vigorous strokes. Half a mile
or so beyond him Winthrope could
now make out the goal for which he
was aiming—the one remaining top- 1
mast of the steamer.
"By Jove, these waters are full of
sharks!" murmured Winthrope, star
ing at the steadily receding dot until
it disappeared behind the wall of surf
which spumed up over one of the outer
reefs.
A call from Miso Leslie interrupted
his watch, and he hastened to rejoin
her. After several failures, she had
contrived to knot Blake's handkerchief
to three or four reeds in the form of a
little sunshade. Her shoulders were
protected by Blake's coat. It made a
hcavj- wrap, but it shut out the blis
tering sun rays, which, as Blake had
foreseen, had quickly begun to burn
the girl's delicate skin through her
open-work bodice.
Thus protected, she was fairly safe
from the sun. But the sun was by no
means the worst feature of the situa
tion. While Winthrope was yet several
yards distant, the girl began to com
plain to him. "I'm so thirsty, Mr.
Winthrope! Where is there any wa
ter? Please get me a drink at once,
Mr. Winthrope!"
"But, my dear Miss Leslie, there is
no water. These pools are all sea
water. I must say, I'm deuced dry
myself. I can't see why that cad
should go off and leave us like this,
"Indeed, it is a shame —Oh, I'm so
thirsty! Do you think it would help
if we ate something?"
"Make it all the worse. Besides,
how could we cook anything? All
these reeds are greeu.
"But Mr. Blake said to gather some'
fish. Had you not best —"
"He can pick up all he wants. I
shall not touch the beastly things."
"Then I suppose there is nothing to
do but wait for him."
"Yes, if the sharks do not get him."
Miss Leslie uttered a little moan,
and Winthrope, seeing that she was
on the verge of tears, hastened to re
assure her. "Don't worry about him,
Miss Genevieve! He'll soon return,
with nothing worse than a blistered
back. Fellows of that sort are born
to hang, you know."
"But if he should be —if anything
should happen to him!"
Winthrope shrugged his shoulders,
and drew out his silver cigarette case.
It was more than half-full, and he was
highly gratified to find that neither the
cigarettes nor the vesta matches in the
cover had been reached by the wet.
"By Jove, here's luck!" he ex
claimed, and he bowed to Miss Leslie.
"Pardon me, but if you have no ob
jections—"
The girl nodded aa a matter of form,
and Winthrope hastened to light the
cigarette already in his fingers. The
smoke by no means tended to lessen
the dryness of his mouth; yet it put
him in a reflective mood, and in think
ing over what he had read of ship
wrecked parties, he remembered that
a pebble held in the mouth Is supposed
to ease one's thirst.
To be sure, there was not a sign of
a pebble within miles of where they
sat; but after some reflection, it oc
curred to him that one of his steel
keys might do as well. At first Miss
Leslie was reluctant to try the ex
periment, and only the increasing dry
ness of her mouth forced her to seek
the promised relief. Though it failed
to quench her thirst, she was agree
ably surprised to find that the little
flat bar of metal eased her craving to
a marked degree.
Winthrope now thought to rig a
shade as Miss Leslie had done, out of
reeds and his handkerchief, for the
sun was scorching his unprotected
head. Thus sheltered, the two
crouched as comfortably as they could
upon the half-dried crest of the hum
mock and waited impatiently for the
return of Blake.
CHAPTER 111.
The Worth of Fire.
-'II /Though the sea within the
V reefs " was fast stnoothing
JB» to a glassy plain in the
dead calm, they did not see Blake on
his return until he struck shallow wa
ter and stood up to wade ashore. The
tide had begun to ebb before he
started landward, and though he was
a powerful swimmer, the long pull
against the current had so tired him
that when he took to wading he
moved at a tortoise-lilce gait.
"The bloomin' loafer!" commented
I Winthrope. He glanced quickly about,
and at sight of Miss Leslie's arching
brows, hastened to add: "Beg par
don! He —ah —reminds me so much
of a. navvy, you know/'
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1909.
Miss Leslie made no reply.
At last Blake was out of the water
and toiling up the muddy beach to the
spot where he had left his clothes.
While dressing he seemed to recover
from his exertions in the water, for
the moment he had finished he sprang
to his feet and came forward at a
brisk pace.
As he approached, Winthrope
waved his fifth cigarette at him with
languid enthusiasm, and called out as
heartily as his dry lips would per
mit: "I say, Blake, deuced glad the
sharks didn't get you!"
"Sharks?—bah! All you have to do
is to splash a little, ana they haul off."
"How about the steamer, Mr.
Blake?" asked Miss Leslie, turning to
face him. .
"All under but the maintopmast—
curse it!—wire rigging at that!
Couldn't even get a bolt."
"A bolt?"
"Not a bolt; and here toe are as
good as naked on this infernal —Hey,
you! what you doing with that match?
Light your cigarette—light it!— Dam
nation!"
Heedless of Blake's warning cry,
Winthrope had struck his last vesta,
and now, angry and bewildered, he
stood staring while the little taper
burned itself out. With an oath, Blake
sprang to catch it as it dropped from
between Winthrope's fingers. But he
was too far away. It fell among the
damp rushes, spluttered, and flared
out.
For a moment Blake knelt, staring
at the rushes as though stupefied;
then he sprang up before Winthrope,
his bronzed face purple with anger.
"Where's your matchbox? Got any
more ?" he demanded.
"Last one, I fancy—yes; last one,
and there are still two cigarettes. But
look here, Blake, I can't tolerate your
talking so deucedly—"
"You idiot! you—you— Hell! and
every one for cigarettes!"
From a growl Blake's voice burst
into a roar of fury, and sprang upon
Winthrope like a wild beast. His
hands closed upon the Englishman's
throat, and he began to shake him
about, paying no heed to the blows
his victim showered upon his face and
body, -blows which soon began to les
sen in force.
Terror-stricken, Miss Leslie put her
hand 3 over her eye 3, and began to
scream—the piercing shriek that will
unnerve the strongest man. Blake
paused as though transfixed, and as the
half-suffocated Englishman struggled
in his grasp, he flung him on the
ground and turned to the screaming
girl.
"Stop that squawking!" he said. The
girl cowed down. "So; that's better.
Next timo keep your mouth shut."
"You —you brute!"
"Good! You've got a little spun*,
eh?"
"You coward —to attack a man not
half your strength!"
"Steady, steady, young lady! I'm
warm enough yet; I've still half a
mind to wring his fool neck."
"But why should you be so angry?
What has he done, that you—"
"Why—why? Lord! what hasn't he
done? This coast fairly swarms with
beasts. We've not the smell of a gun;
and now this Idiot—this dough-head—
has gone and thrown away our only
chance—fire—and on his measly ciga
rettes!" Blake choked with returning
ra^e.
Winthrope, still panting for breath,
began to creep away, at the same time
unclasping a small penknife. He was
white with fear; but his gray eyes—
which on shipboard Blake had never
seen other than offensively supercili
ous—now glinted in a manner that
served to alter the American's mood.
"That'll do," he Baid. "Come here
and show me that knife."
"I'll show it you where It will do the
most good," muttered Winthrope, ris
ing hastily to repel the expected at
tack.
"So you've got a little sand, too,"
said Blake, almost good-naturedly.
"Say, that's not so bad. We'll call It
quits on the matches. Though how
you could go and throw them away—"
"Deuce take it, man! How should I
know? I've never before boon In a
wreck."
"Neither have I—this kind. But I
tell you, we've got to keep our think
tanks going. It's a guess if we see to
morrow, and that's no joke. Now do
you wonder I got hot?"
"Indeed, no! I've been an ass, and
here's my hand to it —if you really
mean It's quits."
"It's quits all right, long as you
don't run out of sand," responded
Blake, and he gripped the other's soft
hand until the Englishman winced.
"So; that's settled. I've got a hot
temper, but I don't hold grudges. Now,
where're your fish?"
"I —well, they were all spoiled"
"Spoiled?"
"The sun had shriveled them."
"And you call that spoiled! We're
like to eat them rotten before we're
through with this picnic. How about
the pools?"
"Pools? Do you know, Blake, I never
thought of the pools. I stopped to
watch you, and then we wero so anx
ious about you—"
Blake grunted and turned on his
heel to wade into the half-drained pool
in whose midst he had been deposited
by the hurricane.
Two or three small fish lay faintly
wriggling on the surface. As Blake
splashed through the water to seize
them his foot struck against a living
body which floundered violently and
flashed a brilliant forked tail above the
muddy water. Blake sprang over the
fl3h, which was entangled in the
reeds, and with a kick flung it clear
out upon the ground.
"A coryphene!" cried Winthrope,
and he ran forward to stare at the
gorgeously colored prize.
"Coryphene?" repeated Blake, fol
lowing his example. "Good to eat?"
"Fine as salmon. This Is only a
small one, but—"
"Fifteen pounds If an ounce!" cried
Blake, and he thrust his hand In hie
pocket. There was a moment's si
lence, and Winthrope, glancing up, saw
the other staring in blank dismay.
"What's up?" he asked.
"Lost my knife."
"When? —in the pool? If we felt
about—"
"No; aboard ship, or in the surf—"
"Here is my knife."
"Yes; almost big enough to whittle
a match! Mine would have done us
some good."
"It is the best steel."
"All right; let's see you cut up the
fish."
"But you know, Blake, I shouldn't
know how togo about it I never did
such a thing."
"And you, Mis 3 Jenny? Girls are
supposed to know about cooking."
"I never cooked anything in all my
life, Mr. Blake, and it's alive—and—
and I am very thirsty, Mr. Blake!"
"Lord!" commented Blake. "Glvo
me that knife."
Though the blade was so small, the
American's hand was strong. After
some little haggling, the coryphene
was killed and dressed. Blake washed
both it and his hands In tlio pool, and
began to cut slices of flesh from the
fish's tail.
"We have no fire," Winthrope re
minded him, flushing at the word.
"That's true," assented Blake, In a
cheerful tone, and he offered Win
thrope two of the pieces of raw flesh.
"Here's your breakfast. The trimmed
piece is for Miss Leslie."
"But it's raw! Really, I could not
think of eating raw fish. Could you,
Miss Leslie?"
Miss Leslie shuddered. "Oh, no!
and I'm so thirsty I could not eat any
thing."
"You bet you can!" replied Blake.
"Both of you take that fish and goto
chewing. It's tho stuff to case your
thirst while we look for water. Good
Lord! —in a week you'll be glad to eat
raw snake. Finnicky over clean fish,
when you swallow canvas-back all but
raw, and beef running blood, and raw
oysters with their stomachs full of dis
integrated animal matter, to put it
politely. You couldn't tell rattlesnake
broth from chicken, and dog makes
first-rate veal —when you've got to eat
it. I've had it straight from them that
knows that over iu France they
snails and fish-worms. It's all a mat
ter of custom or the style."
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