They waited for half-an-hour, and then, when the splash of paddles stole
out of the dark, ran down to the beach. Presently a double-ended bateau
crossed the beam of light and grounded. A young man helped Barbara out
and gave her his arm.

"You mustn't bother, Harry. I can walk all right," she said.

"Get hold," said Vernon. "You're not going to walk. If you're obstinate,
I'll carry you."

Barbara leaned upon his arm, but her color was high and her look
strained when he helped her across the stones. Harry Vernon was a tall,
thin, wiry Canadian, with a quiet face. When he got to the tent he
opened the curtain, and beckoning Mrs. Cartwright, pushed Barbara
inside.

"You'll give her some supper, ma'am, and I'll chase the others off," he
said. "The little girl's tired and mustn't be disturbed."

Barbara gave him a grateful look and the blood came to his sunburned
skin.

"I am a little tired," she declared, and added, too quietly for Mrs.
Cartwright to hear: "You're a white man."

Vernon pulled the curtain across, and joining the others, lighted a
cigarette.

"The girls stopped at False Point, two miles short of the spot we
fixed," he said. "I reckon Bob's directions were not plain enough. Since