"I'll soon wake 'em if they ain't all dead," declared Jim, and putting a finger in his mouth, he emitted an ear-piercing whistle, which swelled and sank like a siren.
"That shore takes the pot for the shrillest, most searchin' whistle I ever hears," exclaimed Broncho. "It plumb near deafens me, an' I bet the limit it scurries up those sharps aboard there a whole lot."
And Broncho was right, for now two heads appeared above the rail of the barque, and an arm was flourished.
"Hurrah! we're seen," cried Jim.
"Whatever species of men are they?" exclaimed the cowpuncher excitedly, as he scanned the distant heads with his keen, prairie-trained eyes.
"Do you-alls notice anything strange about them whalers?" he asked of Jack.
"Seem to have very blotchy faces."
"Blotchy faces? Wall, I should gamble," drawled Broncho. "Why, their physio'nomies is cut up in black an' yellow squares like a checker-board, an' may I be locoed if the one without a sombrero ain't scalped."
"Stickin'-plaster, p'r'aps," suggested Jim, "some whale they've been scrappin' with done it."
"Something's queer aboard," mused Jack. "Those are the two scattermouches we saw this morning. Query, where's the rest of the crowd? South Sea whalers carry a big crew."