"It's this way," drawled Broncho. "My bunkie there"--pointing to Jack's receding form--"me, an' the boy goes a-weavin' offen a ship into this here toomultuous sea without stoppin' to count the chips, we're in sech a hustle--some like the way you-alls vamooses the war-boat, I surmise. That 'ere event occurs away down south, crowdin' hard on two moons back. We-alls goes floatin' round in the swirlin' vortex o' them tempestuous waters, till things begin to look scaly; but finally we makes a landin' on what you-alls call a whaleship. "It's there we meets up with Tari here, and another saddle-coloured gent who's locoed. This same saddle-coloured gent, which his name is Lobu, puts up sech a fervent play that we-alls has to corral him in a kind of calaboose forward; but it shore don't give him no bliss, an' he's that enraged an' indignant that he starts in to light a camp-fire down thar, allowin' as how he'll call the turn on us that-away, an' he mighty near rakes in the pot with that desp'rate play o' his. Though we-alls busts in an' tries to down the flames with wet sails an' liquid goods, it ain't no use; the deal goes agin us, an' we has to make tracks. "We saves our skins by scoutin' off in this here boat, which same play has that paltry Lobu plumb disgusted to the core, an' he finally allows he'll shore pull his picket-pin for good an' quit this vale o' tears. "A-promotin' o' which idees, he goes jumpin' off into the sea, an' though we-alls makes a sperited play to obstruct his little game, it's no use; we're too late, an' the last the outfit sees of him is his blood, whilst he goes p'intin' off under water a-wrastlin' with a shark. "Right in the tracks o' this eepisode we-alls near bogs down likewise, bein' some scarce in liquid refreshments, not to say entirely lackin' in the same--our canteens havin' run out, an' things lookin' ugly an' desp'rate, when rain comes. "But we ain't out o' the wood yet, for Derringer Jack yonder, who's all the time doin' range-boss an' playin' the leadin' hand with both sand an' savvy, goes buttin' his head agin fate, an' one maunin' emerges outer the racket plumb moon-blind. "It's shore a low mean play the Fates puts up agin poor old Jack, but I ain't out to give you-alls no sarmon tharon, nor yet to bewail the abandoned an' ornery conduct o' Destiny. "It's a paltry play it makes, for shore, a-debauchin' itself on Jack that-away, an' plumb mortifies the whole outfit to death; but to resoome this here narrative, it's yesti'd'y we-alls sees your island in a mirage an' capers off on its trail, with what result you-alls knows." "I'm a flat-foot if you unfort'nit jossers ain't been jammed in a clinch proper," commented the naval Robinson Crusoe, as Broncho ceased. There was a short pause, and then Jim broke in: "Got any fresh water here?" "I ain't see'd none; but there's milk, er course." "Milk!" ejaculated Broncho in astonishment. "I don't see no cows around."