“Yes, sir. And I don't mind telling you that, guilty or not, there aren't two men I'd feel safer with in the Southern Peninsula.” “Oh, there _ain't!_” A feeble reply, but the old Captain was beyond words. “Very well,” was all he could get out, “very well!” With that they parted; and the boat, with the strangely selected party aboard, made for the shore. “Now, Smiley,” said Beveridge, when the boat had left them on the sand, “how about our direction?” “Exactly southwest from here. I suppose we shall have to make for Hewittson in a straight line, and see if we can't get there first.” A sort of road led off in a southwesterly direction, and this they followed for an hour. Then it swung off to the left, and they plunged into the forest, from now on to be guided only by the compass. The afternoon wore along. For two hours, three hours, four hours, they tramped through the forest, which now opened out into a vista of brown carpet and cool shade, now ran to a blackened jungle of stumps and undergrowth; but always underfoot was the sand, no longer white but yellow and of a dustlike quality. It gave under the foot at every step; it rose about them and got into their throats and finally into their tempers. “Say, Smiley,” called Wilson. He had swung his coat over his shoulder; his face was streaked with sweat and dirt; the spring was gone from his stride. “Say, Smiley, where are those streams you were talking about?” “Give it up.” “This is a pretty place you're getting us into.” “Shut up, Bert!” said Beveridge. “You tend to business, and quit talking.” “Who's talking? Can't I ask a civil question?” “From the sound, I guess you can't.” “You're saying a word too much there, Bill Beveridge!” Beveridge stopped short and wheeled around. He had tied the sleeves of his coat through one suspender so that it hung about his knees and flapped when he walked. His waistcoat was open, his collar was melted to a rag; altogether he was nearly as tired and hot as his assistant. “What do you say to sitting down a minute?” suggested Smiley, diplomatically. But Wilson returned to the attack. “How long are you going to keep on this way, Bill?” The obstinate quality in Wilson's voice roused a counter-obstinacy in Beveridge. He decided not to reply. “Maybe the sand's getting into his ears so he can't hear well,” said Wilson, addressing Harper as nearly as anybody. But Pink, rather than get into the controversy, went off a little way to a spruce tree and fell to cutting off a piece of the gum. “It's just as you like, Bill,” pursued Wilson. “Of course, it ain't any of my business,--but I just thought I'd tell you we passed that big clump of pines over there about two hours and a half ago.” In spite of him, Beveridge's eyes sought the spot indicated.