"The one where we land," replied the sheep farmer oracularly. "I might ask the Cap'n, only I never pester him with questions. You aren't a Yankee, are you?"
"No," replied Juarez, "I'm not. My folks live in Western Kansas."
"I'm glad to hear it, son. But what are you doing here?" he asked.
"You aren't a Yankee, are you?" inquired Juarez, quizzically. The man laughed softly to himself.
"You've got me there, lad," he said. "It looks to me," he continued, "that the old man is going to steer for the further island."
"Then you will have to swim for your home," remarked Juarez.
"I can wade," he replied whimsically, looking down at his long legs.
"You are a humorist," said Juarez.
"No, you can put me down for a philosopher, that is to say, a man who has much time to think and nothing to do."
"I should like to be one," said Juarez. "Suppose you holy-stone these decks while I try it."