“No. When I asked if it was, he only laughed, and said he had once read of the same thing being done to a walrus, but he didn’t believe it.”
“Just so, Junkie. He meant you to understand the story of the tiger as he did the story of the walrus—as a sort of fairy tale, you know.”
“How could he mean that,” demanded Junkie, “when he said it was a tiger’s tail—not a fairy’s at all?”
Jackman glanced at Quin, and suppressed a laugh. Quin returned the glance, and expressed a smile.
“Better luck next time,” murmured the servant.
“Did you ever see walruses?” asked Junkie, whose active mind was prone to jump from one subject to another.
“No, never; but I have seen elephants, which are a great deal bigger than walruses,” returned Jackman; “and I have shot them, too. I will tell you some stories about them one of these days—not ‘crackers’, but true ones.”
“That’ll be nice! Now, we’re close to the sea-pool; but the tide’s too far in to fish that just now, so we’ll go up to the next one, if you like.”
“By all means, my boy. You know the river, and we don’t, so we put ourselves entirely under your guidance and orders,” replied Jackman.
By this time they had reached the river at the upper end of the loch. It ran in a winding course through a level plain which extended to the base of the encircling hills. The pool next the sea being unfishable, as we have said, owing to the state of the tide, Junkie conducted his companions high up the stream by a footpath. And a proud urchin he was, in his grey kilt and hose, with his glengarry cocked a little on one side of his curly head, as he strode before them with all the self-reliance of a Highland chieftain.