“If those fellows get on our trail,” he thought with a shudder, “they’ll keep on it until they get us. They’ve got to.”
Red brewed the coffee. The girl mixed the batter and fried the cakes.
The meal was eaten in silence. Red found himself in no mood for talk; nor did the girl.
“It—it’s like a communion,” he told himself with a gulp. He was sobered by the thought of the future that lay just before them.
“You know,” said the girl, as the last cup was drained, “since this thing had to happen, I am glad you are you.” A curious smile overspread her face.
“Thank—er—thanks,” Red stammered. “I’ll do my best to be myself.”
“And now,” said the girl, leading him to a place beside her on a rug near the hearth, “I’ll show you about Isle Royale.”
Dragging a quantity of ashes out on the smooth hearth, she busied herself for some time smoothing them out, drawing her finger through them here and dropping a pinch of them there.
“Now,” she sighed at last, “ashes are land, bare spaces are water. See this little pile here? That’s the island we are on. See, it’s in a narrow stretch of water. That’s Tobin’s Harbor. It’s about three miles long. See this one over to the right? That’s Rock Harbor. It’s much longer. Off to the left of Tobin’s Harbor is Duncan’s Bay. It may not matter. And it may. You can’t tell where we’ll end up.
“See that bit of a pile here? That’s Passage Island. There’s a lighthouse out there with people in it, a big light and a foghorn. Listen, you can hear that horn now.”