The wind was piercing cold, and the two on the shore were exposed to its full force while they remained where it was possible to keep the steamer in view.
Sam urged Benny to find a sheltered spot where he might be partially screened from the wind; but the lad refused, saying decidedly:
“I have been ordered here, sir, the same as you were, and I’ll do what any other member of the crew would in my place.”
“All right, No. 8; but I hold to it that there’s such a thing as havin’ too much grit. You want to toughen up; but you’re goin’ too strong at the start. If you’re bound to hold on, keep pace with me while I trot around here a spell.”
Then the two paced back and forth along the rocky coast nearly an hour when, although constantly expecting it, they were startled by the steamer’s shrill whistle.
Three blasts blown, and Sam Hardy exclaimed:
“He’s come to his senses at last; but when it’s too late! Now, whatever happens, he’ll say he was ‘unlucky,’ although we know it was nothin’ but sheer willfulness.”
“What are we to do?” Benny asked, as if thinking they must immediately set to work in an attempt to answer this call for assistance.
“That’s for the keeper to say. If I was in his place I’d get the beach-wagon over here, for the boats are of no use.”
“Sha’n’t I run back toward the station so’s to help them in case they’re comin’ with the cart?”