"Powell let his boat go adrift last spring," Archer reflected, with bitterness. "There's just one way to get help. Swim it."
"By the Lord!" cried the other, astonished. Then shaking his head, "Can't live in that cold for two miles an' a half. An' it's slack water now. By young flood it 'll be the whirlpools."
"We must try it," said Archer. "It's been done once, years ago. I must take the chance. You delay them down there."
Blue Peter thought for a second, then nodded grimly. "You 're all right," he said. "I 'll put a spoke in his wheel. You 're all right. 'T won't be no easy job for 'em." He hesitated. "Look here, somethin' may happen. After this is over,—if she comes out of it all right,—I'm off for good, anyway. Nothin' left on this island for me. The poor little kid—he was what you call a—what is it?—massacree? no, they useter tell about 'em out o' the Bible—'sacrafice' the word? Well, he was bein' spoilt here in this crowd. Might 'a' gone to school an' learnt somethin'; but I kep' puttin' it off—usin' him to
