The trapper’s wisdom was well shown in his next move. This was to heap a quantity of brushwood and logs on the top of all, and set fire to them.
He watched the progress of the fire until it was well alight, and the biggest logs began to crackle.
That same forenoon the first and second mates of the Snowbird were leaning over the bulwarks, looking at the shore, when the sound of oars fell upon their ears, and next minute the yacht’s cutter hove in sight round the point.
“Why,” said Stevenson, “who on earth have they got on board?”
“Old John Brown, I should think,” said the second mate.
“Well,” continued Stevenson, “I do wonder how many queer old customers the captain will pick up before the end of the cruise. Ap ain’t a chicken, and Magnus isn’t a youth, but this new old one beats all. Shouldn’t wonder if it ain’t Methuselah himself. Anyhow, Mitchell, if we do happen to want to rig a jury mast one of these days, this venerable old bit o’ timber in the long hat will be just the thing.”
When the anchor was up once more, sail set, and the Snowbird again holding on her voyage, bowling along under a ten-knot breeze, Stevenson approached to where Seth stood against the capstan.
“I say,” says Stevenson.
“Sir to you,” says Seth.
“You’re a friend o’ the captain’s, ain’t you?”