far as possible from the already scorching heat. The captain, seeing his boat was doomed, headed her about and ran her up as high as he could upon a long sandspit which jutted out from the shore a couple of hundred yards below. He would at least save something of the cargo.
The passengers, with their grips and bundles, jumped from the bows to dry land, ran up the slope, and stood to watch the conflagration. The crew began feverishly tumbling the freight overboard and dragging it up the sand. The goat, who was by this time beginning to get alarmed, stamped impatiently and gave utterance to a loud bleat. One of the deck hands, crying, "We ain't goin' to forgit you, Bill, you old b!" ran up, seized him by one horn, slipped the tether from his collar, dragged him to the side, and gave him a friendly kick on the rump to hasten his departure.
Bill sprang into the air, landed lightly on the sand whipped about like a flash, with lowered head, to avenge the insult to his dignity. But his rude rescuer was still on board, far out of his reach. Another of the deck hands, however, was close by, with his back to him, just stooping to lift a bale of blankets. The mark was irresistible. With a snort of indignation Bill launched himself, struck the unsuspecting man fair on the broad seat of his breeches, and sent
