“Excuse me, but there was words about a duel. I was interested--personally interested, you understand.” “How in blazes did it concern you?” laughed O’Shea. “Never you mind,” darkly answered Johnny Kent. “Tell me, Cap’n Mike, ain’t you goin’ to inform the young lady that there came near being a duel fought over her?” “Of course not. And don’t you blab it.” “But she’d feel terrible flattered. Women just dote on having duels fought over ’em, accordin’ to all I’ve read in story-books. Seems to me you ought to stand up and swap a couple of shots with Van Steen just to please the girl.” “I had not looked at it from just that angle,” amiably returned O’Shea. “You surely are a thoughtful, soft-hearted old pirate.” “Well, the girl will get wind of it, Cap’n Mike. She’s bound to. And maybe she’ll feel pleased, to a certain extent, that a duel was pretty near fought over her.” “But what has all this to do with you personally?” O’Shea demanded. “’Tis none of your duel, Johnny. You would make a fine target. I could hit that broad-beamed carcass with me two eyes shut.” “And maybe I could put a hole in your coppers with my eyes open,” was the tart rejoinder. “Anyhow, you agree with me, Cap’n Mike, don’t you, that there’s no solider compliment with more heft and ballast to it than to fight a duel over a lady?” “I will take your word for it if ye will only explain what it is all about,” yawned O’Shea. “A man don’t have to tell all he knows,” was the enigmatical reply. Whereupon Johnny Kent rolled over on his blanket, but he did not snore for some time. Staring at the canvas roof, or beyond it at the starlit night, he revolved great thoughts. Fortune occasionally favors the brave. Next morning the chief engineer trundled himself across the intervening sand to pay his respects to Miss Hollister. The comparative calm of existence on the key was mending her shattered nerves. She felt a singularly serene confidence that the party would be rescued ere long, and the healthful outdoor life hastened the process of recuperation. With feminine ingenuity she managed to make her scanty wardrobe appear both fresh and attractive. Her favorite diversion was to sit on the sand while Johnny Kent traced patterns of his imaginary farm with a bit of stick. Here was the pasture, there the hay-field, yonder the brook, indicated by a wriggling line. The house would be in this place, large trees in front, a sailor’s hammock swung between two of them. Miss Hollister had several times changed the location of the flower-beds and paths, and was particularly interested in the poultry-yards.