"I don't wonder he laughed," observed Wingate, who seemed to enjoy irritating his friend. "You must have been good as a circus."
"Humph!" grunted the depot master. "If I remember right you said YOU wa'n't any ten-cent side show under similar circumstances, Barzilla. Heave ahead, Bailey!"
Captain Stitt, unruffled, resumed:
"I tell you, I had to take it that evenin'," he said. "All the time I was cookin' and while he was eatin' supper, Billings was rubbin' it into me about my bein' scared. Called me all the saltwater-hero names he could think of--'Hobson' and 'Dewey' and the like of that, usin' em sarcastic, of course. Finally, he said he remembered readin' in school, when he was little, about a girl hero, name of Grace Darlin'. Said he cal'lated, if I didn't mind, he'd call me Grace, 'cause it was heroic and yet kind of fitted in with my partic'lar brand of bravery. I didn't answer much; he had me down, and I knew it. Likewise I judged he was more or less out of his head; no sane man would yell the way he done aboard that automobile.
"Then he commenced to spin yarns about himself and his doin's, and pretty soon it come out that he'd been a cowboy afore young Stumpton give up ranchin' and took to automobilin'. That cleared the sky line some, of course; I'd read consider'ble about cowboys in the ten-cent books my nephew fetched home when he was away to school. I see right off that Billings was the livin' image of Deadwood Dick and Wild Bill and the rest in them books; they yelled and howled and hadn't no regard for life and property any more'n he had. No, sir! He wa'n't no crazier'n they was; it was in the breed, I judged.
"'I sure wish I had you on the ranch, Grace,' says he. 'Why don't you come West some day? That's where a hero like you would show up strong.'
"'Godfrey mighty!' I sings out. 'I wouldn't come nigh such a nest of crazy murderers as that fur no money! I'd sooner ride in that automobile of yours, and St. Peter himself couldn't coax me into THAT again, not if 'twas fur a cruise plumb up the middle of the golden street!'
"I meant it, too, and the next afternoon when it come time to start for home he found out that I meant it. We'd shot a lot of ducks, and Billings was havin' such a good time that I had to coax and tease him as if he was a young one afore he'd think of quittin'.
It was quarter of six when he backed the gas cart out of the shed.
I was uneasy, 'cause 'twas past low-water time, and there was fog comin' on.
"'Brace up, Dewey!' says he. 'Get in.'
"'No, Mr. Billings,' says I. 'I ain't goin' to get in. You take that craft of yourn home, and I'll sail up alongside in my dory.'
"'In your which?' says he.
"'In my dory,' I says. 'That's her hauled up on the beach abreast the shanty.'
"He looked at the dory and then at me.
"'Go on!' says he. 'You ain't goin' to pack yourself twelve mile on THAT SHINGLE?'
"'Sartin I am! says I. 'I ain't takin' no more chances.'
"Do you know, he actually seemed to think I was crazy then. Seemed to figger that the dory wa'n't big enough; and she's carried five easy afore now. We had an argument that lasted twenty minutes more, and the fog driftin' in nigher all the time. At last he got sick of arguin', ripped out somethin' brisk and personal, and got his tin shop to movin'.
"'You want to cross over to the ocean side,' I called after him.
'The Cut-through's been dredged at the bay end, remember.'
"'Be hanged!' he yells, or more emphatic. And off he whizzed. I see him go, and fetched a long breath. Thanks to a merciful Providence, I'd come so fur without bein' buttered on the undercrust of that automobile or scalped with its crazy shover's bowie knife.
"Ten minutes later I was beatin' out into the bay in my dory. All around was the fog, thin as poorhouse gruel so fur, but thickenin' every minute. I was worried; not for myself, you understand, but for that cowboy shover. I was afraid he wouldn't fetch t'other side of the Cut-through. There wa'n't much wind, and I had to make long tacks. I took the inshore channel, and kept listenin' all the time. And at last, when 'twas pretty dark and I was cal'latin' to be about abreast of the bay end of the Cut-through, I heard from somewheres ashore a dismal honkin' kind of noise, same as a wild goose might make if 'twas chokin' to death and not resigned to the worst.
"'My land!' says I. 'It's happened!' And I come about and headed straight in for the beach. I struck it just alongside the gov'ment shanty. The engineers had knocked off work for the week, waitin' for supplies, but they hadn't took away their dunnage.
"'Hi!' I yells, as I hauled up the dory. 'Hi-i-i! Billings, where be you?'
"The honkin' stopped and back comes the answer; there was joy in it.
"'What? Is that Cap'n Stitt?'
"'Yes,' I sings out. 'Where be you?'
"'I'm stuck out here in the middle of the crick. And there's a flood on. Help me, can't you?'
"Next minute I was aboard the dory, rowin' her against the tide up the channel. Pretty quick I got where I could see him through the fog and dark. The auto was on the flat in the middle of the Cut-through, and the water was hub high already. Billings was standin' up on the for'ard thwart, makin' wet footmarks all over them expensive cushions.
"'Lord,' says he, 'I sure am glad to see you, pard! Can we get to land, do you think?'
"'Land?' says I, makin' the dory fast alongside and hoppin' out into the drink. ''Course we can land! What's the matter with your old derelict? Sprung a leak, has it?'
"He went on to explain that the automobile had broke down when he struck the flat, and he couldn't get no farther. He'd been honkin' and howlin' for ten year at least, so he reckoned.
"'Why in time,' says I, 'didn't you mind me and go up the ocean side? And why in nation didn't you go ashore and-- But never mind that now. Let me think. Here! You set where you be.'
"As I shoved off in the dory again he turned loose a distress signal.
"'Where you goin'?' he yells. 'Say, pard, you ain't goin' to leave me here, are you?'
