“A new path!” The pertinent question staggered him.

“Yes, the people who lived here must have had some sort of free passage.”

He lied easily.  “I have only cleared away recent growth,” he said.

“And why did they dig a cave?  It surely would be much more simple to build a house from all these trees.”

“There you puzzle me,” he said frankly.

They had entered the cavern but a little way and now came out.

“These empty cartridges are funny.  They suggest a fort, a battle.”  Woman-like, her words were carelessly chosen, but they were crammed with inductive force.

Embarked on the toboggan slope of untruth the sailor slid smoothly downwards.

“Events have colored your imagination, Miss Deane.  Even in England men often preserve such things for future use.  They can be reloaded.”

“Yes, I have seen keepers do that.  This is different.  There is an air of—­”

“There is a lot to be done,” broke in Jenks emphatically.  “We must climb the hill and get back here in time to light another fire before the sun goes down.  I want to prop a canvas sheet in front of the cave, and try to devise a lamp.”

“Must I sleep inside?” demanded Iris.

“Yes.  Where else?”

There was a pause, a mere whiff of awkwardness.

“I will mount guard outside,” went on Jenks.  He was trying to improve the edge of the axe by grinding it on a soft stone.

The girl went into the cave again.  She was inquisitive, uneasy.

“That arrangement—­” she began, but ended in a sharp cry of terror.  The dispossessed birds had returned during the sailor’s absence.

“I will kill them,” he shouted in anger.

“Please don’t.  There has been enough of death in this place already.”

The words jarred on his ears.  Then he felt that she could only allude to the victims of the wreck.

“I was going to say,” she explained, “that we must devise a partition.  There is no help for it until you construct a sort of house.  Candidly, I do not like this hole in the rock.  It is a vault, a tomb.”

“You told me that I was in command, yet you dispute my orders.”  He strove hard to appear brusquely good-humored, indifferent, though for one of his mould he was absurdly irritable.  The cause was over-strain, but that explanation escaped him.

“Quite true.  But if sleeping in the cold, in dew or rain, is bad for me, it must be equally bad for you.  And without you I am helpless, you know.”

His arms twitched to give her a reassuring hug.  In some respects she was so childlike; her big blue eyes were so ingenuous.  He laughed sardonically, and the harsh note clashed with her frank candor.  Here, at least, she was utterly deceived.  His changeful moods were incomprehensible.

“I will serve you to the best of my ability, Miss Deane,” he exclaimed.  “We must hope for a speedy rescue, and I am inured to exposure.  It is otherwise with you.  Are you ready for the climb?”