"What's yours?" replied Mr. McKay.
"All square, governor. Can we land?"
"Provided you keep your people in order," replied Mr. McKay, then turning to his companions he exclaimed: "By Jove! I know that fellow; he's no good, I'm afraid."
"You know him?"
"Yes, I met him on a pearl-fisher in Torres Strait twenty odd years ago. He hasn't changed much in appearance, and I'm afraid his manners haven't. Still, I'll not claim acquaintanceship with him at present."
The paddles were resumed, and the canoe glided quietly to the shore. The natives, for the most part stark naked, began to tumble over the side, some grasping enormous clubs studded with sharks' teeth, and others long triple-barbed spears.
"Tell those fellows to throw those weapons back into the canoe," shouted Mr. McKay sternly. "Otherwise we'll not permit them to land."
The white man spoke a few words to the turban-haired native, who in turn uttered an order to his men. Instantly the weapons were thrown into the canoe with a loud clatter, and the natives, wading ashore, secured their boat and proceeded to squat in a semicircle.
"My name's Blight—Jimmy Blight," exclaimed the stranger.
Mr. McKay merely nodded his head in reply. He could not bring himself to say the words "Pleased to see you," for the simple reason that he was not.