“Two o’clock Thursday. No later! No later than two, now!” Captain Bluntt admonished as they drew away from the ship. The mile to the mouth of Egg River was a short pull for Dan, and he found that with a little maneuvering he was able to work the boat a considerable distance up the river itself, to the first clump of straggling spruce trees. Here it was decided to make camp, and while Dan pitched the tent and put things in order Paul wandered up the stream and soon had a fine trout on his hook. Fishing was good, many delightful tramps were taken over the rolling hills, and only too quickly Thursday rolled around. “What’s the hour?” inquired Dan as they finished their dinner. Paul looked at his watch. “Half past twelve.” “We’ll have to be gettin’ back t’ th’ ship.” “All right. Pack things up. While you’re doing it, guess I’ll have one more try at the fish.” “Now don’t be goin’ too far,” cautioned Dan, who had learned Paul’s failing. “Th’ skipper’s wonderful keen on bein’ on time.” “Oh, I won’t go far.” Half an hour later, when Dan had the camp things stowed neatly in the boat, and all was ready for departure, he called: “Hello-o, Paul!” No answer. He followed up the river bank, calling again and again, but had gone nearly a mile before he received an answering “Hello!” Paul had a big trout hooked, and was playing him. “Great sport. Didn’t get a strike till I hit this pool just now and this is the second, already.” “’T is time t’ be off,” said Dan, “and late.” “Oh, there’s no such rush as that. I want to take some trout back with me.” “Th’ skipper’s wonderful keen on bein’ on time.” “Oh, he didn’t mean _just_ two o’clock, but around that time. Besides, they weren’t going after the other fellows till two.” “’T was two o’clock.” Dan was patient for fifteen minutes longer, while Paul fished. “We can’t tarry, Paul. We _must_ be goin’.” “Now don’t nag.” “’T is no naggin’. Th’ skipper’ll be wonderful angry.” “Oh, I don’t think he’ll mind if we’re not there exactly at two.” It was half past two when Dan finally said: “An’ now we’re goin’,” with a tone of finality that angered Paul. “Oh, are we?” Paul was unhooking a trout. “Th’ sky looks nasty to me, an’ th’ wind’s breezin’ up, an’ there’s a fog settlin’ below.” “I don’t see any fog, and the sky looks all right to me.” “Comin’?” “No.” “But you is.” “You ain’t my master. I guess I’ll do as I please.” “You is _comin’_.” Dan had stepped close to Paul, who was preparing to make another cast. “When I get ready.” “You is comin’ _now_,” and Dan took Paul forcibly by the arm. “Let go of me!” “You is comin’,” and he tightened his grip. “Take that!” Paul slapped Dan square in the face with open palm. Then a whirlwind seemed to strike Paul, and before he knew what had taken place he found himself on the ground, and Dan on top of him. “Is you comin’?” “Yes! Let me up!” Paul was half crying with anger.