Now, however, it was different. Just as the other had overwhelmed every other consideration, the sight of the derelict flung memory back upon those things which are never failing in their grip on human imagination.
He stood gazing down at the queer object and every vestige of his earlier enthusiasm for the work in hand faded out of his unsmiling eyes. He had forgotten. And now he remembered. And so he stood there, for all he was ready enough for the cooking food which Sasa had prepared, and which smelt so appetising on the still air.
The sun sank lower upon the horizon. It dipped into the sea and lit a broad path across the bosom of the waters. The circling gulls screamed out their night chorus before perching for their rest. And all the time, deeper and more surely, the fascination of that derelict below took hold of him.
At last McLagan stirred. He unfastened the pea-jacket it was his habit to wear. Then he raised one hand and the palm of it was passed across his forehead thrusting back his cap in its gesture. He turned and called over his shoulder.
“Sasa!”
The half-breed came sturdily across to him from behind the hut. And he stood there beside him following the direction of his gaze till his own rested upon the remains of the Limpet.
“Your canoe. Your kyak. Is she in good shape?”
“Sure. Him all time same. I mak him so.”
“You’ll beat it up the river to-night. Get it?”