Part 21 (2/2)

You recollect that Juarez had just discovered two islands lying on the South-eastern horizon, the one, long and low, the other comparatively short and dumpy. He had been conversing with the tall shepherd of the island, who seemed to take an interest in Juarez. But because of his isolated life during a greater part of the year, he would have taken an interest in a stone idol, if he had chanced to discover one.

”Which of these islands are we making for?” inquired Juarez.

”The one where we land,” replied the sheep farmer oracularly. ”I might ask the Cap'n, only I never pester him with questions. You aren't a Yankee, are you?”

”No,” replied Juarez, ”I'm not. My folks live in Western Kansas.”

”I'm glad to hear it, son. But what are you doing here?” he asked.

”You aren't a Yankee, are you?” inquired Juarez, quizzically. The man laughed softly to himself.

”You've got me there, lad,” he said. ”It looks to me,” he continued, ”that the old man is going to steer for the further island.”

”Then you will have to swim for your home,” remarked Juarez.

”I can wade,” he replied whimsically, looking down at his long legs.

”You are a humorist,” said Juarez.

”No, you can put me down for a philosopher, that is to say, a man who has much time to think and nothing to do.”

”I should like to be one,” said Juarez. ”Suppose you holy-stone these decks while I try it.”

”No, my friend,” replied the shepherd, ”I am too much of a philosopher to make any such swap.”

”Is Captain Broom one?” asked Juarez.

”Well, he is a sort of a philosopher till he gets mad, then he becomes a living active volcano, belching out a lava of hot language and scorching things generally. I guess that I had better be moving along. I see that he is eyeing me from the Bridge, and he is likely to get active any moment if I keep you from working.” With this the lanky shepherd strolled forward and seating himself upon the top of the boys' sleeping place in the bow, smoked his pipe in meditative comfort.

His estimate in regard to the destination of the Sea Eagle proved to be correct. For in the early afternoon the s.h.i.+p pa.s.sed under the lee of the long island and was steaming up the channel between it and the mainland, which was distant some thirty-five miles.

The fog had cleared by noon, and there was that complete transition to brilliant, sunny weather. There was a sort of a white haze along the distant coast and beyond far inland, rose the faint summits of the high mountains.

Fortunately Juarez and Tom had a chance to observe their new surroundings for they had been set to work sewing on a small sail that was to be used in one of the boats. They sat upon the top of one of the hatches, under the watchful eyes of old Pete and the philosophic gaze of the shepherd. Sewing was one of the accomplishments of the Frontier Boys. They had been obliged to learn.

”What is that particular bronze looking weed, floating in these waters?”

asked Tom. It was as Tom phrased it, bronze and a most beautiful color.

It was indeed a giant among weeds; just such as the garden of the ocean would grow. The stems were fifty to eighty feet long, with peculiar colored leaves eight to ten inches in length, growing on little boughs from the parent stem. The whole structure was held up by small bronze buoys, of a round shape.

”Well as ye seem likely boys and want to learn, I'll tell you about this plant,” said the shepherd. ”The scientific fellows call it Algae. When the world was first made this algae covered the whole surface of the ocean.”

”How did you learn this?” asked Juarez.

”You know that the Captain is quite a collector, and in his travels has gotten together among many other things some interesting books. He gives them to me when convenient.” The face of the lanky shepherd was perfectly grave when he spoke of Captain Broom as a collector.

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