Percy was a fickle youth. Whilst Popple Opstein had been aboard, on that amusing "Prodigal Son" adventure, he had transferred his worship from Mr. Scarlett to him. Now he transferred it again to Miss Borsen, and waited on her hand and foot, standing by with his big eyes fixed on her as if she was some beautiful angel come straight down from heaven into this little world of his. He was such a nuisance that Mr. Scarlett had to drag him out and drop him down the ladder on to the fo’c’sle. Mr. Fisher joined us presently, and we three, through our glasses, examined the shore and desert plains running inland behind the line of telegraph-posts. Before we had steamed ten miles we saw numerous bands of mounted men moving about the dreary wastes, and Mr. Fisher was on thorns to get back as quickly as possible to the telegraph-station (which was now without a white man), and kept on saying: "I must send my wife and Miss Borsen away by the very next steamer. I don’t like the look of things at all." He also told me that he had tried to make them go by yesterday’s mail-steamer—the one we had "spoken"—but that Miss Borsen would not go until she had definite news of her brother’s fate, and his wife would not leave her at Jask alone. "They’ll have to stay there for another fortnight now," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "She doesn’t seem very pleased to see me," I said bitterly. "I’m afraid you rather annoyed her the last time you were here." "How? Carrying her over that swampy place?" "Yes," he nodded; "she thought it an insult." "If she never gets a bigger insult than that she won’t do badly," I answered angrily. "However, I’m sorry; but she won’t let me tell her so." At last, about half-past four, Mr. Fisher thought we were abreast the place where the last telephone message had come from—the five hundred and twentieth telegraph-post I think he said it was—so I turned the "_B.A._"’s bows inshore, with Ellis heaving the lead every few seconds, to warn us of shoaling water. It was a shallow, sandy bay with nothing to be seen on the desolate shore except the endless line of telegraph-posts. I anchored three hundred yards off and took ashore Mr. Fisher, a native telegraphist, and the portable telephone apparatus. They connected this to the telegraph-wire and tried to call up Jask. If Jask answered, we were on the near side of the cut wire; and, as Jask did answer, it showed that the spot where the tragedy had taken place must be still farther away. So back to the "_B.A._" we went, and I heard Miss Borsen asking Mr. Fisher, with a half-sob, whether he had found anything. We weighed anchor and felt our way, carefully, still farther along to the east’ard. Presently the signal-man shouted to me that he saw someone on the beach, and, looking through my telescope, I made out a man hopping down towards the water’s edge on one leg and waving his arms to attract attention.