“How about Old Scrubs——­”

“Don’t you believe none in luck?” asked Handy Solomon.  “Aye.”

“Well, so do I, with w’at that law-crimp used to call joodicious assistance.”

I rowed out to the Laughing Lass very thoughtful, and a little shaken by the plausible argument.  Captain Selover was lying dead drunk across the cabin table.  I did my best to waken him, but failed, took a score of cartridges—­no more—­and departed sadly.  Nothing could be gained by staying aboard; every chance might be lost.  Besides, an opening to escape in the direction of the laboratory might offer—­I, as well as they, believed in luck judiciously assisted.

In the ensuing days I learned much of the habits of seals.  We sneaked along the cliff tops until over the rookeries; then lay flat on our stomachs and peered cautiously down on our quarry.  The seals had become very wary.  A slight jar, the fall of a pebble, sometimes even sounds unnoticed by ourselves, were enough to send them into the water.  There they lined up just outside the surf, their sleek heads glossy with the wet, their calm, soft eyes fixed unblinkingly on us.

It was useless to shoot them in the water:  they sank at once.

When, however, we succeeded in gaining an advantageous position, it was necessary to shoot with extreme accuracy.  A bullet directly through the back of the head would kill cleanly.  A hit anywhere else was practically useless, for even in death the animals seemed to retain enough blind instinctive vitality to flop them into the water.  There they were lost.

Each rookery consisted of one tremendous bull who officiated apparently as the standing army; a number of smaller bulls, his direct descendants; the cows, and the pups.  The big bull held his position by force of arms.  Occasionally other, unattached, bulls would come swimming by.  On arriving opposite the rookery the stranger would utter a peculiar challenge.  It was never refused by the resident champion, who promptly slid into the sea, and engaged battle.  If he conquered, the stranger went on his way.  If, however, the stranger won, the big bull immediately struck out to sea, abandoning his rookery, while the new-comer swam in and attempted to make his title good with all the younger bulls.  I have seen some fierce combats out there in the blue water.  They gashed each other deep——­

You can see by this how our hunting was never at an end.  On Tuesday we would kill the boss bull of a certain establishment.  By Thursday, at latest, another would be installed.

I learned curious facts about seals in those days.  The hunting did not appeal to me particularly, because it seemed to me useless to kill so large an animal for so small a spoil.  Still, it was a means to my all-absorbing end, and I confess that the stalking, the lying belly down on the sun-warmed grass over the surge and under the clear sky, was extremely pleasant.  While awaiting the return of the big bull often we had opportunity to watch the others at their daily affairs, and even the unresponsive Thrackles was struck with their almost human intelligence.  Did you know that seals kiss each other, and weep tears when grieved?