Part 10 (1/2)

”Where are we?” he asked Barnett. ”I mean since you picked me up. How long ago was that, anyway?”

”Yesterday,” replied the navigating officer. ”We've stood off and on, looking for some of our men.”

”Then that's the same volcano----”

Barnett laughed softly. ”Well, they aren't quite holding a caucus of volcanoes down in this country. One like that is enough.”

But Slade brushed the remark aside.

”Head for it!” he cried excitedly. ”We may be in time! There's a man on that island.”

”A man!” ”Another!” ”Not Billy Edwards?” ”Not some of our boys?”

Slade stared at them bewildered.

”Hold on,” interposed Dr. Trendon authoritatively. ”What's his name?” he inquired of the journalist.

”Darrow,” replied the latter. ”Percy Darrow. Do you know him?”

”Who in Kamschatka is Percy Darrow?” demanded Forsythe.

”Why, he's the a.s.sistant.” It's a long story----”

”Of course, it's a long story. There's a lot we want to know,”

interrupted Captain Parkinson. ”Quartermaster, head for the volcano yonder. Mr. Slade, we want to know where you came from; and why you left the schooner, and who Percy Darrow is. And there's dinner, so we'll just adjourn to the messroom and hear what you can tell us. But there's one thing we're all anxious to know; how came you in the dory which we found and left on the _Laughing La.s.s_ no later than two days ago?”

”I haven't set eyes on the _Laughing La.s.s_ for--well, I don't know how long, but it's five days anyway, perhaps more,” replied Slade.

They stared at him incredulously.

”Oh, I see!” he burst out suddenly; ”there were twin dories on the schooner. The other one's still there, I suppose. Did you find her on the stern davits?”

”Yes.”

”That's it, then. You see when I left----”

Captain Parkinson's raised hand checked him. ”If you will be so good, Mr.

Slade, let us have it all at once, after mess.”

At table the young officers, at a sharp hint from Dr. Trendon, conversed on indifferent subjects until the journalist had partaken heartily of what the physician allowed him. Slade ate with keen appreciation.

”I tell you, that's good,” he sighed, when he had finished. ”Real, live, after-dinner coffee, too. Why, gentlemen, I haven't eaten a civilised meal, with all the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, for over two years. Doctor, do you think a little of the real stuff would hurt me? It's a pretty dry yarning.”

”One gla.s.s,” growled the surgeon, ”no more.”