“And causing us to waste time scandalously. Are you ready, Miss Maxwell? Let me pin this compass card on the table. Use the parallel ruler; regard each inch as a mile, and I’ll do the rest by guesswork.” Courtenay took his binoculars, and went on to the bridge. He called out the apparent distance of each landmark he could distinguish, described it, and gave its true bearing. In the result, Elsie found she had prepared a clear and fairly accurate chart of the bay and its headlands, while the position of the distant range of mountains was marked with tolerable precision. But Courtenay was far from being satisfied. “If I had a base line, or even a fresh set of points taken higher up the inlet, I could improve on my part of the survey,” he said. “Yours is admirable, Miss Maxwell. Of course, I know you are an artist; but mapping is a thing apart. That is first-rate.” “Perhaps you may be able to secure fresh data when the _Kansas_ puts to sea again,” said Christobal. “If I am conning the wheel, I must leave the chart-making entirely to my assistant,” replied the captain, lightly. “But I do mean to peep a little further into our estuary. Before the ship sails I may have another spare hour to devote to it.” “In what way?” asked Elsie. “By utilizing the canoe. A mile or so higher up the channel I should be clear of the bluff which hides Otter Creek. I imagine it will be possible then to see the full extent of the bay. I must get you to sound Suarez as to the lie of the land.” “I hope you will do nothing of the sort,” protested Elsie, earnestly. “Why? Do you think the canoe unsafe?” “No, no; not that. But those waiting Indians. They might see you.” “Oh, the Indians again! I shall run no risk of that sort. It would indeed be the irony of fate if the _Kansas_ slipped her cable and left the skipper behind.” “Huh! No fear! She’d follow you like Joey. I was tellin’ Miss Maxwell what a lucky fellow you were. Besides, if you went, I’d be in command, and you know what would happen then. By gad, if all else failed, the bloomin’ tub would turn turtle in the Pool.” To emphasize his remarks, Boyle blew a big smoke ring, and shot several smaller rings through it. Elsie felt Christobal’s critical eye on her; she was shading the outlines of the map, and trusted that her head was bent sufficiently to hide the tell-tale color which leapt to her face. But Courtenay wished to hear more of this. “I hope you do not credit everything my chief officer says about me,” he said, glancing over her shoulder at the drawing. “Nor about himself,” he added, as she was too busy to look up. “To my knowledge, he has refused the command of two ships since we both joined the _Kansas_.”