Hooliam added something with a great show of plausibility.
"Says he hasn't got room," said Charley with a laugh.
"Rubbish!" said Garth. "You tell him he takes the three of us or none! Give it to him strong!"
Upon receipt of this ultimatum, Hooliam, shrugging, turned away; and the three of them boarded the Loseis.
Running out two pairs of clumsy sweeps, which were no more than good-sized trees a little flattened at one end, they laboriously pulled out of the river. Before them the lake stretched to the horizon as smooth and colourless as a lightly frosted pane. Loons, herons and a little kind of gull; ducks in pairs and squadrons; flocks of brown geese and shining white swans, wheeled, sailed and swam about them in countless numbers.
When they had rowed upward of a mile into the lake a mighty discussion suddenly arose amongst the crew. The oarsmen ceased their labours to take part in it. Eight wetted brown forefingers were held aloft.
"They're scrapping about whether there is any wind," Charley explained.
To a white man's senses there was no sign of wind; nevertheless the oars were run in, the cargo shifted, and the heavy mast, with infinite labour, stepped amidships and guyed. Hooliam looked on indifferently from the stern, idly swinging his great sweep back and forth. Finally a dirty square sail was raised. It declined to belly or flap in the slightest degree; but the breeds, satisfied with what they had done, lay around the boat, preparing to enjoy themselves in luxurious ease. They amused themselves by tempting the water-fowl close with imitations of their cries; and popping at them ineffectively with their twenty-two "trade-guns."
Garth stood it as long as he could.
"Look here!" he said at length to Charley. "Ask him how long this is going to last."