Part 17 (2/2)

”Waal, Jeems, I wouldn't advise you to grow any more, or I'll have to raise the roof of my cabin.”

”That's what, Cap'n,” replied Jeems imperturbably. ”That's what happens when you grow up in Californy. You grow all the year around, and not like in New England where the winters makes you stubby.”

Then the native philosopher seated himself on the chest again and took long and delightful pulls at his recently staked pipe.

”Hum!” he said. ”This tastes right. Did yer ever know what it war to be starved for yer 'baccy, Cap'n?”

”No,” replied the Captain, ”I can't say that I ever did.”

”Well, I want to tell you, Cap'n, that it is worse than going without water and I know what that is. Been on a desert till my tongue was as thick as a cow's, and hung out between my teeth, black.”

”How long have you been away?” inquired the Captain.

”Three weeks, Cap'n.”

”How are the sheep lookin'?”

”Pretty fair, Cap'n,” he replied. ”I think that they had a whiff of rain over there a few days ago.”

”It won't be long till we git the rains,” suggested the Captain.

”I don't know, Cap'n,” remarked the lanky one. ”The climate of Californy is a curious proposition. It's built on the bias down at this end.”

”How's that?” asked the Captain curiously. He had a certain interest in this particular courier's theories, however he might laugh at their peculiarities. For there was apt to be a basis of reason in them.

”Well, it's this way, Cap'n,” said James Howell, to give him his correct name, thrusting one lanky hand deep into his jeans pocket and bending forward awkwardly. ”It's this way. You see the storms come down from the North to the Tehatchipei mountains, where there isn't any way for them to get through to the south. Then the clouds s.h.i.+ft around to Arizony, and if the wind is right they are blown through the pa.s.ses of the Sierra Madre into Southern Californy, then we get the rain. That's why I said, Cap'n, that this dazzling climate is built on the bias.”

”Waal, Jeems, as a weather prophet you can't be beat,” said the Skipper.

”In my business I get plenty of time to think, Cap'n,” he remarked, ”and as they ain't much to see except climate I think about that.”

”Waal, I have a good sight more than that to consider,” replied the Skipper. ”I'm thinking right now about that government boat. I'm going on deck. You can turn in.”

The Captain showed him to an empty cabin and the lanky stranger proceeded to make himself comfortable for the balance of the night, while the Captain went up on the Bridge.

”Where are you heading this boat to?” he asked gruffly of the man at the wheel.

Then he took the helm himself and immediately the Sea Eagle's prow pointed to the Westward as if she were heading directly for j.a.pan.

However, she held this course for only an hour and a half when the Skipper swung her bow once more to the South.

Long before the morning broke, Tom and Juarez, hauled out of their resting place, were set to scrubbing the decks and rubbing them down with holy-stone. They waited eagerly for the first break of day to see where they were.

Then the light came slowly through the fog-covered sky, showing a glossy sea with a slight swell and not a sign of land anywhere. The boys'

hearts sank within them and they felt sure that they would not see their native land again.

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