The seconds, few as they were, that were necessary to this operation seemed ages; but no sooner had the wind got a purchase on the breadth of the sail, than the boat flew through the water, for she was new running free.

“He has got him!  I can see the two!” shouted the elder Cameron.

And as for the younger?  At this mad speed the boat would be close to Macleod in another second or two; but in that brief space of time the younger Cameron had flung his clothes off, and stood there stark-naked in the cutting March wind.

“That is foolishness!” his brother cried in the Gaelic.  “You will have to take an oar!”

“I will not take an oar!” the other cried, with both hands ready to let go the halyards.  “And if it is foolishness, this is the foolishness of it; I will not let you or any man say that Sir Keith Macleod was in the water, and Duncan Cameron went home with a dry skin!”

And Duncan Cameron was as good as his word; for as the boat went plunging forward to the neighborhood in which they occasionally saw the head of Macleod appear on the side of a wave and then disappear again as soon as the wave broke, and as soon as the lugsail had been rattled down, he sprung clear from the side of the boat.  For a second or two, John Cameron, left by himself in the boat, could not see any one of the three; but at last he saw the black head of his brother, and then some few yards beyond, just as a wave happened to roll by, he saw his master and the boy.  The boat had almost enough way on her to carry her the length; he had but to pull at the huge oar to bring her head round a bit.  And he pulled, madly and blindly, until he was startled by a cry close by.  He sprang to the side of the boat.  There was his brother drifting by, holding the boy with one arm.  John Cameron rushed to the stern to fling a rope, but Duncan Cameron had been drifting by with a purpose; for as soon as he got clear of the bigger boat, he struck for the rope of the dingy, and got hold of that, and was safe.  And here was the master, too, clinging to the side of the dingy so as to recover his breath, but not attempting to board the cockleshell in these plunging waters.  There were tears running down John Cameron’s rugged face as he drew the three up and over the side of the big boat.

“And if you was drowned, Sir Keith, it was not me would have carried the story to Castle Dare.  I would just as soon have been drowned too.”

“Have you any whiskey, John?” Macleod said, pushing the hair out of his eyes, and trying to get his mustache out of his mouth.

In ordinary circumstances John Cameron would have told a lie; but on this occasion he hurriedly bade the still undressed Duncan to take the tiller, and he went forward to a locker at the bows, which was usually kept for bait, and from thence he got a black bottle which was half full.

“Now, Johnny Wickes,” Macleod said to the boy, who was quite blinded and bewildered, but otherwise apparently not much the worse, “swallow a mouthful of this, you young rascal; and if I catch you imitating a dolphin again, it is a rope’s end you’ll have, and not good Highland whiskey.”