“‘That’s okay with me,’ I said. ‘The telling part, I mean. But anyway we’re from the same old town, all the same, and that’s the next thing to coming from the same family, so if I ever see two fellows in trouble, and one’s you, I’m going to help you first.’
“‘Same here.’ He pumped my hand up and down.
“Well, what do you think of it, Stew?” Jack asked after a time.
“Strikes me you’re two grand guys,” said Stew. “But what about that girl Patsy?”
“That doesn’t matter so much any more, I guess.” Jack paused. “Of course the home folks mean a lot to a fellow when he’s out here. Patsy writes to me, quite a lot, just the home town news. Wants to know what I’m doing, and tells me what she’s doing. Half a dozen other girls do the same. It’s their patriotic duty. Mighty nice of them, but it’s just their homework, that’s all.”
“Don’t be too sure!” Stew was in dead earnest. “You just keep on writing to Patsy.”
“Oh, sure I will!” Jack laughed. “And all the rest of them. But it may be a long time between letters just now. Lie down and rest,” he suggested. “I’ll call you when I feel like changing places.”
“Don’t wait too long.” Stew stood up and yawned.
After a short walk up and down the pebbly beach Stew stretched out for a few winks of sleep. Jack gripped his automatic and patrolled the beach.
As he walked he thought of all the circumstances that had brought him to this wild spot. He had always wanted to fly. Flying toy airplanes had been his favorite occupation in grade-school days. The strange, gypsylike life his family had lived in summer, camping in some Indian cabin or roughing it on an island, with canoes, rowboats and sailboats always at hand, had prepared him for all this. After high school he had spent a winter on an island as assistant ranger. His only contact with the outside world had been by radio. For five months no boat came to the ice-locked island. Snowshoes, long inspection marches, nights in deserted cabins, wolves, moose, and snow buntings. He had loved it all.