"Wal, not much, to tell the truth. Thar's no use of buo-oyin of ourselves up with false hopes; not a mite. Thar's a better chance of his bein picked up. That thar's likely now, an not unnatooral. Let's all don't give up. If thar's no fog outside, I'd say his chances air good."
"But it may be foggy."
"Then, in that case, he'll have to drift a while—sure."
"Then there's no hope."
"Hope? Who's a sayin thar's no hope? Why, look here; he's got provisions on board, an needn't starve; so if he does float for a day or two, whar's the harm? He's sure to be picked up eventooally."
At this moment their conversation was interrupted by a loud call from the promontory. It was the voice of Bruce.
While these events had been taking place on board the schooner, Bruce and Bart had been ashore. At first they had waited patiently for the return of the boat, but finally they wondered at her delay. They had called, but the schooner was too far off to hear them. Then they waited for what seemed to them an unreasonably long time, wondering what kept the boat, until at length Bruce determined to try and get nearer. Burt was to stay behind in case the boat should come ashore in his absence. With this in view he had walked down the promontory until he had reached the extreme point, and there he found himself within easy hail of the Antelope.
"Schooner ahoy!" he cried.
"A-ho-o-o-o-y!" cried Captain Corbet.
"Why don't you come and take us off?" he cried.