"You could have my lame foot, for all I care," Rex said sweetly. "Keep your hair on, Reddy. Maybe it isn't as bad as you think. At any rate, I fancy you will be in plenty of time for the next mess—if it comes off."
Cloudman darted down to dish out the first relay of fried soup and potatoes. Hardtack took the place of bread, and the coffee was good. The cowboy had not lived most of his life on the plains for nothing.
"You're a pretty fine cook, Applejack," admitted Rex, beginning on his plateful with gusto.
"Don't jolly me," said the Westerner. "I've pretty near got fed up with that. When we get ashore, it's somebody's turn beside mine—don't you forget it."
"Are we going to get ashore—on this island, I mean?" put in Midkiff.
"Come on," Red urged. "Give us the yarn, Rex. Who are those fellows over there?"
"Haven't the first idea—only I got their names down pat. But I never heard of them before, that I know. However, that makes no difference. They know us."
"They do?" exploded Midkiff.
"One-sided introduction, eh?" giggled Peewee.
"At least," explained Kingdon more fully, "they are expecting us on the island. Our coming to camp here is known to them, and they know that they are in for trouble. Of course, the signs along shore would tell them that much, even were they greenhorns from afar."