"There came a day when his new insolence broke out with his old hate.

'You Foe,' said he, 'I reckon you're priding yourself on your bedside manner, eh? . . . I can't keep much account of time, lying here.

But, when I get about again, I'll have things in this camp a bit more shipshape, I promise you. . . . I've been thinking it out, lying here: and my conclusion is, you're too much of the boss without doing your job. . . . How long is it since you've strolled up to the look-out?'

"'About a fortnight,' said I.

"'And that's a pretty sort of watch, eh?' he continued irritably: '--when you know that I never missed a day. . . . I tell you, Foe, that, after this, we'll have to come to a reckoning. One or other has to be master on this island, and it isn't going to be _you_!

"I went up the hill obediently with the binoculars. I went up thoughtfully. . . ."

"I came back some fifty minutes later, and said, 'You're too weak to walk; too weak even to crawl.'

"'What's the use to tell me that?' he asked, still keeping his air of insolence. 'Drop your bedside manner, and present your report.'

"'I will,' said I. 'One of us two has to be master on this island?

So you said, and you shall be he; sole master, Farrell, with your d.a.m.ned dog. . . . There's a schooner at this moment making an offing from the anchorage where, as I've always told you, we'd been wiser to pitch our camp. I guess she put in to water, and I've missed her whilst I was busy curing your body. . . . Well, better late than never! She's hauling to north'ard, well wide: so you'll understand I'm in something of a hurry. . . . You're on the way to recovery, Farrell, and this makes twice that I've saved your life: but as yet you can neither walk nor crawl, and I give you joy of your bonfire, up yonder. In five minutes I push off, alone.'

"He raised himself slowly, staring, and fell forward grovelling, attempting vainly to catch me by the ankles.

"'You won't--you can't! Oh, for G.o.d's pity say you don't mean it!

Say it's a joke, and I'll forgive you, though it's a cruel one.'

Then, as I broke away from the door--'Have mercy on me, Foe--have mercy and don't leave me! _I can't do without you!_'"

"These were his last words that I heard as I plunged down the sand and pulled in the boat's sh.o.r.eline handover-fist. I had just time to jump in and thrust off before the dog came bounding after me, barking furiously. The brute was puzzled, but knew something to be wrong.

He even swam a few strokes, but turned back as I hit at him with a paddle. He made around the curve of the sh.o.r.e, still barking. But I had sculled through the narrows of the pa.s.sage before he could reach it. I had a sight, over my shoulder, of Farrell, who had crawled to the doorway: and with that I was through the strait and sculling for open water, while the baffled dog raced to and fro on the spits and ledges astern, pausing only to bark after me as though he would cough his heart out.

"In the open water I hoisted sail, with the wind dead aft, and soon, beyond the point, caught sight of the schooner. After running out almost three miles, she had hauled close to the wind and was now heading almost due north. . . . She could not miss me, and yet I had made almost two miles before she got her head-sheets to windward and stood by for me.

"As I drew close, a thin-faced man with a pointed beard hailed me from her after-deck.

"'Ahoy, there! And who might _you_ be, mistaking the Pacific for Broadway, New York?'

"'I'm from the island,' I answered.

"'What ship's boat is that you've gotten hold of?' he bawled.

"The _Two Brothers_.'

"'Lordy! I _thought_ I reckernised her. . . . Then you're old Buck Vliet's missionary, that he marooned.' . . . Shall I go on, Roddy?"

I dropped my cigar into the ash-tray. "You may stop at that," I answered, unable (that's the queer part of it) to lift my eyes and look him in the face, although I knew very well that he was leaning back in his chair, eyeing me steadily, challenging the verdict.

"Yes," said I, slowly turning the cigar-stump around in its ash, "I'm sorry, Jack . . . but I don't want to hear any more."

"I knew you would take it so," said Jack quietly, with a sort of sigh.

"Well," said I, "how else? Of course I know you'd had a d.a.m.nable provocation, to start with. And I'm no man to judge you, not having been through the like or the beginnings of it. . . . You were rescued, for here you are. That's enough. But--d.a.m.n it all!--you left the man!"

"--And the dog. While we are about it, don't let us forget the dog,"

said Jack wearily. "Shall we toss who pays the bill? Here--waiter!"

We parted under the porch-cover, in the traffic of Regent Street.

I have told you that, in our best of days, Jack and I never shook hands, meeting or parting. It saved awkwardness now.

BOOK IV.

THE COUNTERCHASE.

NIGHT THE TWENTY-FIRST.

THE YELLOW DOG.

About two months later--to be accurate, it was seven weeks and two days--my flat in Jermyn Street was honoured with a totally unexpected call by Constantia Denistoun. Constantia has a way of committing improprieties with all the _aplomb_ of innocence. She just walked upstairs and walked into the room where Jephson and I were packing gun-cases.

"Hallo!" said she. "You seem to be in a mess here."

"Please sit down," said I, removing a sporting rifle and bundle of cotton-waste from the best arm-chair.

"What is the matter?" she asked, arching her brows as she surveyed the general disorder.

"We're packing," said I.

"It may surprise you to hear it," said she, taking the seat, "but so I had guessed. What is it? Preparing for the pheasants, or for Quarter Day?"

"Neither," I answered. "I'm going to South America, that's all.

. . . That will do for the present, Jephson. You may get Miss Denistoun a cup of tea."

"Sudden?" she asked, when Jephson had withdrawn.

"Well," I admitted, "I booked my pa.s.sage only two days ago, but I've had the notion in my mind for some time."

"Alligators, is it? or climbing, this time? Or just general exploring?"

"You may call it exploring, though I may have a shy at the Andes on the way. These fits come upon me at intervals, Constantia, as you know, ever since you determined to be unkind."

"Don't be absurd, Roddy," she commanded, tracing out a pattern of the carpet with the point of her sunshade. The tracing took some time.

At length she desisted, and looked up, resting her arms on her knees.

"Roddy, I'm engaged to be married."

A bowl stood on the table, full of late tea-roses sent up from Warwickshire. . . . As the blow fell I turned about, and slowly selected the best bloom.