“Tide’s risin’, wind’s n’uthard, an’ our drift’s strong t’ th’ s’uthard. They ain’t hearin’. Get your rifle, an’ I finds cartridges. We’ll be shootin’ signals.”
The outfit hastily thrown in a heap was pulled over by Dan. Paul was too excited and nervous to remember in which of his two bags the ammunition was packed, and Dan could not find the cartridges for his own carbine. Finally, after unpacking both bags, Dan discovered not only Paul’s cartridges but his own, which Paul had inadvertently thrown in one of his bags the previous day.
Paul’s rifle was quickly loaded, Dan fired, and they listened intently. No response came, and he fired again and again, until presently the welcome sound of a distant rifle shot came faintly out of the fog. Their hopes rose, but the distant shots in response to their own grew fainter and fainter, and at length could no longer be heard.
Dan finally laid down the rifle, with the remark:
“They ain’t no use shootin’ any more. Th’ wind’s comin’ down from th’ ship, an’ if we can’t hear they, sure no one will be hearin’ us. Th’ skipper’s not knowin’ we been wrecked, an’ he’ll not be sendin’ a boat. He’ll be thinkin’ we’ll pull for th’ ship with the shootin’ t’ guide us. ’T ain’t no use.”
Paul’s hope of rescue, which had become a certainty when he heard the shots, now gave place to despair, and he threw himself upon the ice, moaning:
“We’re lost! Oh, we’re lost! We’re lost!”
“Keep un nerve,” soothed Dan. “They ain’t no knowin’ what’ll happen. Dad tells un, ‘When you gets in a bad place, Dan, keep un nerve. More folks,’ says he, ‘dies from losin’ they nerve than dies from most anything else. Whilst they’s life they’s a chanst,’ says he.”
“Keep un nerve,” soothed Dan