"Whistle him up, Sam," Benton ordered. "Jack can beat our time, and this
bleeding must be stopped quick."

The tender veered in from her course at the signal. Fyfe himself was at
the wheel. Five minutes effected a complete arrangement, and the
_Panther_ drew off with the drunken cook singing atop of the pilot
house, and Renfrew comfortable in her cabin, and Jack Fyfe's promise to
see him properly installed and attended in the local hospital at Roaring
Springs.

Benton heaved a sigh of relief and turned to his sister.

"Still mad, Stell?" he asked placatingly and put his arm over her
shoulders.

"Of course not," she responded instantly to this kindlier phase. "Ugh!
Your hands are all bloody, Charlie."

"That's so, but it'll wash off," he replied. "Well, we're shy a good
woodsman and a cook, and I'll miss 'em both. But it might be worse.
Here's where you go to bat, Stella. Get on your apron and lend me a hand
in the kitchen, like a good girl. We have to eat, no matter what
happens."




CHAPTER VI