"Wish I could spare you more, old boy!" murmured the man. "Tell you what I'll do," he went on, almost as though speaking to a human. "You stay here. I'll go meet Bill Park, and maybe he's got more of a snack than he wants. I'll get some for you. Stay here now. If you go up among the dunes you'll be out of the wind—some."
He pointed to a little range of larger hummocks of sand, which would keep off the worst of the gale. Sig flashed his light toward them and waved it to and fro. The dog whined a little and then slunk off, his tail hanging between his legs.
"Salt mackerel!" exclaimed Sig. "I hope he doesn't think I'm drivin' him away. It's only for your own good, red-dog!" he went on. "I'll be back in a little while with something to eat—if Bill has any. You go up there and wait for me!"
Whether the animal really knew what the man said, or thought he was being ordered away, Sig could not tell. But the dog slunk on in the rain and storm and darkness, toward the sand dunes. In a few seconds he was lost to sight.
"I'd let you follow along after me, but there's no need, and you'd only get blown away, maybe," mused the man. "Might slip into the inlet, too, in the dark. Best stay up there until I come back."
He hurried on, his eyes strained, now out to sea again up the beach. Presently he caught the gleam of a little flash of light and he sent out a flicker of his own in answer.
"That's Bill!" he murmured.
A little later he and the other coast guard were exchanging brass disks. These, like the watchman's time clock, proved that the men had walked their posts.
"Got more grub'n you want to-night, Bill?" asked Sig.
"Might have—why?"