He took in the tall, gaunt man with the smooth-shaven face and long hair at two glances—one not being sufficient to his height.
"Well, who are you?" he inquired lounging on the rail and regarding Juarez with mild-eyed interest.
"I'm Juarez Hopkins, deck scrubber. Who are you?"
"I'm James Howell, sheep farmer. I'll add you two lambs to my flock," he replied, whimsically, glancing at Tom who was down the deck a way.
"You are more apt to find us wolves in lamb's hide," retorted Juarez. "Where's your farm?"
"There," said the stranger, pointing with a long, bony finger on the port-quarter, "that nigh island."
Then Juarez saw to his surprise, two islands that seemed to have sprung like magic upon the South-eastern horizon. The further one lay long and low and dark but distant beneath the fog-lined sky, the "nigh one" was more short and dumpy in appearance.