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And Skipper Zeb himself had said, "When a man gets into a fix 'tis mostly because he don't use his head, and 'tis his head has to get he out of un. His legs and his hands won't help he, unless his head tells un what to do." That was logical and reasonable. He was now in a "fix," and a worse fix indeed than that in which he and Toby had found themselves on Swile Island.
Taking off their caps and kneeling upon their sleeping bags under the lean-to, and bowing their heads reverently, Toby prayed: "Charley and I are wonderful hungry, Lard. We been bidin' here on this island, which we calls Swile Island, goin' on ten days.
A little later she imparted to me some of her views on the sport we were pursuing. "Huntin' is man's work," she said, "but I doesn't say as a woman can't do it if she's a mind ter, like anythin' else. One time I shot me brother's gun at a swile, and it liked ter have knocked me jaw awry. I had a lump on it fer a week an' I let mother think I had the toothache.
Charley watched Skipper Zeb standing on the shore and looking longingly after them, and then turn back to his lonely work in the wilderness, and he, himself, felt suddenly very lonely. With unexpected suddenness the wind rose to half a gale before they had spanned two-thirds of the distance to Swile Island.
I figgers that they's no chanst to get away from Swile Island with the boat, whatever, with the storm and the high seas that's runnin' for a week or ten days, and I knows you'll be gettin' out o' grub." Then Toby told him of his own and Charley's experiences, and while he listened admiringly he asked many questions. "Well, now!
It filled his lungs like a life-giving tonic. How glorious this wild world was! "Well, now!" Skipper Zeb announced an hour before midday. "Here's Swile Island before we knows it! We'll stop for a bit to boil the kettle and stretch our legs ashore." Swile Island was a small, nearly round island, containing an area equal to about that of a city block.
Toby and Charley bade good-bye to Skipper Zeb, and hoisting the sail departed for Double Up Cove. "The breeze'll be helpin' you now," shouted Skipper Zeb from the shore. "Make the most of un, and don't be takin' too much time to boil the kettle at Swile Island!" "Aye," shouted Toby, "we'll be makin' the most of un."
"But it was lucky we was near loaded, for dat put a chill on our min', an' de tought of dose dead Huskies lost us many a fine swile, for de boys wouldn't scatter over de ice as dey used to. "It wasn't long after dat de capten tould us dat we were full enough, an' away we sailed to de sou'-east." "Dat was de time de Li'n was lost wasn't it?" inquired another islesman.
"If I stay here by the kettle, I'll not be able to leave the meat alone, and one of us mustn't have any more of it than the other." Down on the sunny side of the island Charley all at once clutched Toby's arm. "What's that?" he whispered excitedly, pointing to a dark object lying upon the rocks just above the water's edge. "Down!" whispered Toby. "Keep down where you is! Don't move! 'Tis a swile!"
He drew the blanket sling toward him, and stood toward the poor clay. "I'll send her up to ye for dacent burial," he shouted. This suggestion was answered by a yell of protest from the men on the cliff. "If ye be afeard o' her, ye white-livered swile, what d'ye want me to do wid her?" "T'row her overboard! Heave her into the sea!" "Aye, t'row her overboard. She bes the devil hisself!
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