rched groaning
around the shack. At the first glint of dawn, he ordered Bull to take
out the gag and lie down, then went to the door himself.

It's a pity that Dale, our leader, a sure fine shot, has a slight cast
in his near eye, which throws his lead a little to the right. That's
why, when Whiskers went to the door, Dale's bullet only whipped off his
left ear. Instead of being grateful, Whiskers skipped around holding the
side of his face, with remarks which for a poor man was extravagant. The
shot made Bull bolt courageous behind the stove, to look for a bandage,
he said, while Ginger and the greaser sat up on their tails looking sort
of depressed. Not one of the four was happy on finding that they'd
bottled themselves in the cabin instead of taking my advice and clearing
for the States.

"Prisoner," says, Whiskers, dolesome, holding his poor ear, "you can
talk to your friends acrost the river?"

"Why, certainly, Captain."

"What way?"

"Signaling."

"Then tell your friends that if they don't throw all their guns into the
river, you die at sunrise. Have you got religion?"

"I didn't mention," says I, sort of thoughtful, "that any of my friends
can read the signals."

"Then," says he, in that suicide manner he had, "they won't get your
last sad words. Get them weapons thrown in the river, or grab religion
right away, for you'll need it."

"Cut the catgut, Colonel."

So Ginger cut me free.

"Show a white flag, General," said I.

So Ginger waved a paper on a stick, and Dale replied with a white scarf
from his neck.

When I walked out, the boys acrost the river gave three cheers, but I
was halted from behind before I'd got far sideways. "Now," says
Whiskers, "signal, and pray that you won't be tempted to send erroneous
messages."

"Remember," Bull shouts, "I can read Morse. No fooling."

"All right, Mr. Brooke," I called back, "then I'll use semaphore."

I heard Whiskers in tears directing his two youngsters to put Mr.
Brooke's head in the meal sack, and sit hard on top. So I began to
signal, explaining each word to Whiskers.

_Swim._ "That," says I, "means 'Dale.'"

_Pool._ "That's 'fool,'" says I, "because he don't give the answer."

_Below._ "That's 'Hello.'"

_Rapids._ "That's 'Hello' again."

"You lie," says Whiskers, miserable, through his teeth. "You made six
letters."

"Sorry," says I, "it got spelt wrong first time."

_Float._ "That's 'skunk,'" says I, "because he's a polecat not