"The silence is that thick you-alls could pick it up an' chew it, an' you could hear the flies walkin' about! We mavericks who has the front stalls even cinches on to our breath an' corrals it in our innards, till we're as distended an' blown out as a dead steer in a coullee. "An' the shorthorn shore bluffs this frothy kyard-sharp clean an' easy. For a moment he looks kinder dubious an' mystified; then he lowers his gun, kaufs up the Britisher's double-eagle, an' chucks it over to him, a-sayin': "'Here's y'r dinero, an' I'm advisin' you, stranger, to pull your freight an' git. You-alls is too d----d tough for Texas." Broncho stopped, and then broke into a yarn which he told with much droll solemnity, ending up with: "This here's meant to be humourous. Mebbe it ain't, but it's allers had humour cinched on to it an' it's got to be a custom, so I allows we'll have to let it go at that, bein' as it's tagged an' labelled that-away, though I shore reckons it's mighty grim an' doleful as a funny play, and it more often has me winkin' water than throwin' off onrestrained guffaws." It was a gallant fight, this of the plucky cowboy, desperately pitting old yarns and jokes against the present blackness; but through all the laughter his serious, anxious eyes kept watching his blind shipmate with an almost pitiful look. Perhaps, of all the occupants of the whaleboat, the calamity to their leader hit the cowpuncher the hardest. The strongest natures feel the most, especially for others, and no one could say that there was any strain of weakness in Bucking Broncho. Jack's bandages were constantly renewed, and fresh soaked in salt water. He proved a good and tractable patient, and no one heard any complaint leave his lips. Only an occasional fleeting look of agony in his sightless eyes showed the chafing of the restless spirit within. Soon after midday, Jim, who was standing up in the bows taking a glance round the horizon, suddenly gave a shout of surprise. "Land ho!" he cried. Right ahead, where the horizon grew indefinite and seemed to melt away into the midst of the tropical heat, there lay an island, clear cut and distinct. The black reef, the low beach, the very palms showed up in dark clusters of straight stems and bushy foliage. "Hurrah! An island right ahead!" he went on. Tari and Broncho scrambled up and clambered forward. After a long look, Tari said quietly, "Dat am ghost-island!" "Ghost-island? Precious little ghost about that," asserted Jim confidently. "It's an atoll, I expect," called Jack from under the awning. "Surely we can't have drifted as far north yet as the Paumotus! By my reckoning the nearest island is over a hundred miles off." "It's a coral island--I can see the cocoanut trees," the boy sang out excitedly. "I'm afraid Tari's right, son," said Broncho, after a long scrutiny. "It's a mirage!" "A mirage?" exclaimed Jim incredulously, in tones of deep disappointment.