It is a far cry from the savagery of the illicit mountain still to
that consummate luxury of civilization, an ocean-going steam yacht.
Yet, in actual space, the distance between these two extremes was not
great. _The Josephine_, all in snowy white, save for the gleam of
polished brass-work, and flying the pennant of the New York Yacht
Club, glided forth from Norfolk Harbor in serene magnificence on the
same day that _The Bonita_ chugged fussily over the same course. The
yacht was setting out on the second stage of her leisurely pleasure
voyage to Bermuda. The skipper had been instructed to follow the coast
southward as far as Frying Pan Shoals, for the sake of rounding
Hatteras. Afterward, since the weather grew menacing, the craft
continued down the coast to Cape Lookout, where anchor was dropped in
the Harbor of Refuge.
The island that lies there is a long, narrow, barren strip of sand,
dotted thickly with dunes. Only a coarse marsh grass grows, with
dwarfed pines and cedars. In this bleak spot live and thrive droves of
wild ponies, of uncertain ancestry. It was these creatures that just
now held the attention of two persons on the yacht.
Under the awning in the stern, two girls were chatting as they dawdled
over their morning chocolate. The younger and prettier of these was
Josephine Blaise, the motherless daughter of the yacht-owner; the
other was Florence Marlow, her most intimate friend.
"Dad told me I could have the runabout ashore," Josephine was saying,
with a sudden access of animation. "We'll go along the beach, as long
as the going's good, or till we scare up the ponies."
"I do hope we'll see them digging holes in the sand, so as to get
fresh water," Florence exclaimed.
But Josephine was quick to dissent:
"They don't dig for water," she explained, with a superior air. "They
dig the holes in the beach when the tides out, and then the tide comes
in and fills the holes, of course. When it ebbs, the ponies go around
and pick out the fish, and eat them."
Florence stared disbelievingly.
"Oh, what a whopper!" she cried.
"Captain Hawks told me himself," Josephine asserted, with confidence.
"He knows all about them--he's seen them wild on the island and tame
on the mainland."
"Same ones, probably!" was the tart retort. "I thought the doctor
lied ably, but he's truth itself compared with that hairy skipper of
yours."
Josephine tossed her head.
"We'll run 'em down and observe their habits, scientifically, and
convince you."
A glance shoreward showed the car awaiting them. As they descended the
ladder to the launch, a yelp sounded from the deck, and a bull-terrier
came charging after. Florence regarded the dog without any evidence of
pleasure.
"Does the pest go, too?" she asked, resignedly.
Josephine pulled the terrier's ears fondly, as it cuddled close
against her skirt.
"Chubbie deserves an outing after the bump he got from that horrid man
yesterday," she said.
The girls exchanged glances, and laughed over some secret joke. When,
presently, they were seated together in the runaabout, with Josephine
at the wheel, the bull-terrier squatted in dignity on the small back
seat. The level sand formed a perfect roadway, and the car darted
smoothly and swiftly between the twin barren spaces of land and sea.
As they swept forward, the girls watched alertly for a glimpse of the
ponies among the dunes, but there was nowhere any sign of a living
thing, save the few hurrying gulls. They had gone perhaps twenty
miles, and were beginning to fear disappointment, when, without
warning, a drove of the horses came galloping over the crest of a
little rise, a half-mile beyond. As the car ran forward, along the
ribbon of sand below the higher ground, the ponies suddenly perceived
it, and halted with the precision of a troop of cavalry. Near at hand,
now, the girls could note details, and both observed with interest the
leader, which stood a little in advance of his troop, at the end near
the approaching machine. He was a handsome creature, with lines as
suavely strong as an Arabian's. He stood with head held high, tail
streaming, a fore-hoof pawing challengingly at the sand. Only the
thick, shaggy bay coat showed the barbarian, rather than the
thoroughbred. The mares, a score of them in one orderly rank behind
him, were crowding and lashing out nervously, as they watched the
strange monster racing so fast on the ocean's edge. Some of them
nickered curiously. But the stallion rested silent, until the
automobile halted, hardly fifty yards away. Then he tossed his head
proudly, and blared a great trumpet-note of defiance. Josephine
instinctively answered with the horn. The mechanical cry broke
harshly, swelled and wailed. The eerie response terrified the mares;
it perplexed and alarmed their lord. But he showed no dismay. For a
moment still, he remained motionless. His noisy challenge rang forth
once again. Since the invader on the sands below kept silence, nor
made any movement toward attack, the leader seemed to feel that his
prestige was safe enough; that prudence were now the better part. He
sounded a low call, and set off at a gallop along the ridge top. The
rank of mares pounded obediently at his heels.
"Oh, after them, Josie!" Florence cried.
In a moment, the car shot forward. The horn clamored again. The
fleeing horses looked back, then leaped to new speed before the
monster that threatened them with unknown terrors. As the car
increased its pace, the ponies strove the harder. Their strides
lengthened, quickened. The stunted marsh grass beat on the low
bellies. Despite their desperate striving, the runabout drew closer
and closer, reached abreast of them. The excitement of the chase was
in the sparkling eyes of the girls. The dog, scrambling up and falling
in its seat, yelped madly. Here, the beach broadened to a sharper
ascent of the ridge. Josephine shifted the wheel. The car swung in a
wide curve and drove straight toward the panic-stricken troop, as if
it would soar up to them. Fear took pride's place in the leader's
heart. He sounded a command. The flying drove veered, vanished from
the ridge top. The muffled thudding of hoofs came faintly for a minute
against the sea wind. Then, as the car came to a standstill, the girls
listened, but heard no sound.
"It was bully fun!" Josephine said. "I'm sorry it's over."
"After that run, they may be thirsty enough to dig for water,"
Florence suggested, with a laugh. "Let's climb up, and take a look
round from the ridge."
But a glance from this point of advantage made it clear that the
peculiarities of the ponies in drinking or fishing were not to be
explained to-day. They were visible still, to be sure, but a mile off,
and the rapidity with which the moving mass diminished to the eye was
proof that they were still in panic.
"We might as well get back to the yacht," was Josephine's rueful
comment. "There's not another single thing to see, now they're gone."
She ran her keen gaze over the dreary waste of the island with a
little shiver of distaste. Then her glance roved the undulant expanse
of sea. She uttered a sharp ejaculation of surprise.
"There is something, after all," she called out, excitedly. "See--over
there!"
Florence looked in the direction marked by the pointing finger.
"It's a canoe," she hazarded, as her eyes fell on the object that
bobbed lightly in the surf, two hundred yards from the shore. "I can
see the man in it. He's lying down. Funny!"
But Josephine, wiser from much experience on shipboard, now saw
clearly, and the sight thrilled.
"It's a life-raft," she declared, with a tremor in her voice; "and
there's a man on it. It's a--real--castaway. Come!"
With that, she set off running down the steep slope of the ridge
toward the sea. Behind her came Florence, startled and alarmed. The
dog barked exultantly once, then leaped ahead, only to return and
circle the slower playfellows joyfully. They came to the water's edge,
and halted, perforce. Josephine saw the raft, as it rode on a breaking
wave. It was perceptibly nearer. She dared hope it might be brought
within reach. With deft motions, the flannel skirt was tucked within
her belt, leaving her legs free. Florence, somewhat reluctantly, made
the like adjustment. The bull-terrier, disheartened by this
immobility, sat on its haunches, and regarded the two doubtfully,
perhaps prudishly disapproving. From time to time the raft showed for
a few seconds; only to vanish again behind the screen of spume. But it
advanced shoreward, steadily. The body of the man was distinct--prone,
motionless. The girls watched and waited in palpitant eagerness. The
dog, sensing the tension of the moment, began to hasten to and fro,
snuffing and whining. Suddenly, the two cried out in the same moment.
They saw the raft floating fast and smoothly toward them on the crest
of a breaker. They dashed forward, knee-deep, to meet the charge. The
huge mass of the wave pounded upon them, almost swept them from their
feet. The angry waters boiled about them. It was up to their waists
now. The flying spray lashed their faces and blinded them. When, at
last, their vision cleared, the raft had vanished. They caught sight
of it again, presently. It was floating from them, already fifty yards
distant.
Nevertheless, the girls, though discouraged, did not give over their
hope of rescue. Not even when another wave thrust the raft fairly upon
them, so that their hands clutched the tubes, then tore it ruthlessly
from their puny grasp, and flung it afar. The dog, accustomed to
sporting in the surf with its mistress, rushed to seize this flotsam,
but the powerful jaws could find no hold. As the dog approached,
swimming, Josephine put her hand to its collar, and so supported it
while they waited anxiously for the raft's return.
It came more quickly than before. It was, indeed, as if fate finally
relented, for the raft was borne this time on a smaller wave, almost
with gentleness, as it seemed. Yet, the gentleness of appearance was
only mockery. When the two girls laid hands on it with all their
strength it swerved violently, wrested itself from their clutch.
Josephine cried out in despair. She saw the dog, released by her
effort, plunging forward. A rope dragged in the raft's wake, a remnant
of the lashings. The dog lunged viciously, and its jaws locked on the
rope. Immediately, then, the bull-terrier began swimming toward the
shore. There was no progress. But the going of the raft was
momentarily stayed. Josephine saw the opportunity and shrieked to
Florence. The two sprang, and caught the raft again. It rested
passively in the grasp of the three. The dog continued swimming, its
face set resolutely shoreward. The girls, up to their breasts in
water, stepped forward, tugging lustily. The three advanced slowly.
The raft moved with them.
It was a struggle that taxed the strength of each to the uttermost.
Those three puny creatures fighting against the might of the ocean for
the body of a dead man! Dead the man seemed, at least, to the girls,
who, after one glance into the drawn and ghastly face of their burden,
dared not look again. The undertow writhed about their legs, jerked at
them wrathfully. Waves crashed upon them with shattering force. Once,
Florence was hurled from her footing, but her hands held their grip on
the raft. The wrenching shock was sustained by Josephine and the dog.
They gave a little, but with fierce, stubborn resistance. Florence
regained her feet. The rout was stayed. The pitiful combat between
pigmies and Titans was on again. There was good blood in the three. A
fighting ancestry had dowered them with the courage that does not know
defeat when it is met. Their strength was exhausted. Yet, they battled
on. A great comber smashed against them. It snatched the raft from the
weakened hold of the girls, threw it far up on the sand. The dog shot
in a wide arc through the air. They could hear its grunt as it fell.
But the jaws were still locked. In the same instant, the beast was
firmly set, hauling at the rope. The raft was held for a little by the
dog alone, against the waters as they sucked back. Then, the girls
tottered to aid. They fell to their knees in the shallows, and clung
frantically. The waves hissed away from them.
They feared the coming of a larger breaker to undo their work.
Josephine perceived to her astonishment that the man was not fastened
to the raft, except by the vise-like gripping of his big hands. And,
too, she saw now that he was living. She guessed that he was stupefied
by exhaustion, yet not swooning. She shrieked to him to unclench his
fingers. It may be that his dulled brain understood in a measure; it
may be that he was come to the very end of his strength. Anyhow, as
she put her fingers to his, there was no resistance. The grasp that
had withstood the sea's fury, yielded at once to the soft pressure of
her touch. The two girls summoned new energy to the task. The dog let
go the rope, and, whining curiously, caught a trouser leg between its
teeth, and aided. Somehow, the three contrived to roll and push and
pull the inert form to a point of safety. Then, they sank down,
panting.
Josephine stirred first. With a gasping sigh, she struggled to a
sitting position. The dog at once stood up, and shook itself with
great violence. The drops splashed over the face of Florence, and she,
in turn, opened her eyes, groaned deeply, and sat up, with a wry smile
of discomfort.
"What'll we do with the corpse?" she inquired, in an undertaker's best
manner.
The funereal suggestion, so sincerely offered, provoked Josephine to a
weak peal of laughter.
"Better wait to worry over that till he's dead," she answered briskly,
if somewhat incoherently. "And he will be, if we don't watch out.
There should be a flask in the motor. Run and get it, Flo. I'll chafe
his hands."
"Run!" the other exclaimed. "If I can crawl it, I'll be proud."
Nevertheless, she got to her feet, stiffly, but readily enough. "And
sprinkle water on his face," she called over her shoulder. "It might
cheer him anyhow, after having had it all over him by the ton." Both
girls in the first reaction from the stress of their war against
death were brimming with joyousness, notwithstanding fatigue.
While Josephine rubbed the rough hands as strongly as she could
between her own tender ones, the dog drew near. When the girl looked
up, she saw that her pet was licking the man's face. She called out in
sharp rebuke. At the same moment, the castaway's eyes unclosed. For
long seconds, he stared, unblinking. Then, abruptly, his voice sounded
in a low drawl of wonder:
"Hit's thet-thar damned man-faced dawg!"