Presently another albatross made a descent upon them, and after a fierce fight retired from the contest, bleeding and disgusted; but he had left his mark on Broncho's hand, which was nastily torn. "This here abandoned conduct of these debauchees of birds has me plumb weary," remarked the cowpuncher, as he wiped his blood-stained knife on his sleeve. "I feels like a spring lamb on the pra'rie up agin an eagle. That ere profligate bird was shore hungerin' for blood, an' I feels kind o' comforted when I dirties his shirt-front, an' he, carolling forth a squawk, jumps out an' pulls his freight. No, Jack, thar's nothin' timid about these here albatrosses; they're bold a whole lot, not to say f'rocious an' gore-thirsty." "Our combination's too strong," grunted the latter optimistically. But though Broncho discussed the danger in his off-hand way, and Jack seemed cool and undismayed, Jim hung in the life-buoy, his little, thin face white and drawn. The desperate fight with the fierce birds had almost been too much for his young nerves, toughened though they were, and he felt sick and faint. But the cold was now beginning to make itself felt, and this was really the chief danger to the castaways; for the wind had been falling steadily all the morning, and had become very faint, whilst the sea ran in long oily ridges, only one of which here and there broke with any strength. The boy's lips were blue, and his teeth chattered, though he tried hard to keep them clenched. "Bit cold, Jim, ain't it? How're you feeling?" asked Jack, observing the pinched features and chattering teeth with inward concern. "I'm all r-r-r-right! Go-go-goin' strong." "More'n that riotin' albatross is," remarked Broncho, pointing to the dead bird, which still floated close to the rover. "He ain't stuck his head out of water since Jack downed him." "He's d-d-d-dead, isn't he?" "I ain't right certain he ain't foxin'," returned the cowpuncher. "Give him a poke with your bowie, Jack, an' see if you can't rouse him some." "Not I," objected Jack. "Let sleeping dogs lie." And so time passed as, slowly, very slowly, the whaler drifted nearer. The sea was bitterly cold, and occasionally a breaker knocked the breath out of them, but no one of the three showed any signs of weakening. Hovering round them were several albatrosses, besides black-hens and molly-mawks, all squawking loudly, and evidently trying to summon up sufficient courage to attack the dauntless trio. "Them birds is shore organisin' for war," observed Broncho, as he watched them. "They're beginnin' to whoop an' beat their tomtoms a whole lot. I've a theery that six-shooters would be good argyments with them feathered sports. I regrets most sincere our havin' to leave our weepons on the _Higgins_ that-away, Jack; I just loathes hittin' a new trail without packin' a gun along." "No time to pack our trunks," grunted Jack disgustedly. "Left my baccy, and want a smoke bad."