Billy Topsail, M.D.. Duncan Norman

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      "You is, sir."

      "Is you takin' orders or isn't you?"

      The effect of this was immediate. The boy stopped his clamour.

      "I is, sir," said he.

      "Then stand by!"

      "Aye, sir!" – a sob and a sigh.

      It was to be bitter cold work in the wind and water. Billy Topsail completed his preparations before he began to strip. He lashed the end of the seal-leather line round the boy's waist and put the club in his hand.

      All this while he gave directions: The boy was to face the dogs; he was not to turn round for hints of Billy's progress or to be concerned at all with that; he was not to lose courage; he was to feint and scold; he was to let no shadow of fear cross his face – no tremor of fear must touch his voice; he was not to yield an inch; he was not to sob and cover his eyes with his hands – in short, he was to mind his own task of keeping the dogs away and leave Billy to accomplish his.

      And the boy answered: "Yes, sir!" and "Aye, sir!" and "Very well, sir!" – like an old hand of the coast.

      It was stimulating. Billy Topsail was heartened. He determined privately that he would not turn to look back – that if the worst came to the worst, and he could manage to do so, he would jerk the lad into the water and let him drown. The snarling tumult of the onset would warn him when the worst had come to the worst.

      And then he stripped stark naked, quickly stowed away his clothes in the midst of the boy's dogskin robes, tied the end of the seal-leather line round his waist, and ran to the edge of the pan.

      "If you drowns – " the boy began.

      "Keep them dogs off!" Billy Topsail roared. "I'll not drown!"

      He slipped into the water and struck out.

      CHAPTER X

      By this time the sun was touching the cliffs of shore. It was a patch of struggling white light in the drear gray colour of the west. It would drop fast. In his punt, in summer weather, wondering all the while at the acceleration of this last descent, Teddy Brisk had often paused to watch the sun fall and flicker out of sight. It had seemed to fall beyond the rim of the world, like a ball.

      "She tumbles through the last foot or two!" he had determined.

      In a little while the sun would be gone. Now the sky was overcast and scowling. In the east it was already dusk. The cloudy black sky in the east caught no light from the feeble sun. Presently everywhere it would be dark. It had turned colder too. The wind from the north was still blowing up – a nipping gray wind which would sweep the floe and hamper the manipulation of the little pan towards which the naked Billy Topsail was striving.

      And the wind lifted the dry snow and drove it past Teddy Brisk's feet in swirling wreaths. The floe was smoking, the boy thought. Before long the snow would rise higher and envelop him. And he thought that when Billy reached the little pan, and stood exposed and dripping in the blast, he would be very cold. It would take a long time, too, to haul the little pan across the lane of water.

      It will be recalled that Teddy Brisk was ten years old. He stood alone. He knew the temper of the dogs. Billy Topsail was out of reach. The burden of fear had fallen on the boy – not on Billy. The boy had been in a panic; yet he was not now even afraid. Duty occupied him. He had no time for reflection. The hazard of the quarter of an hour to come, however, was clear to him. Should he fail to keep off the dogs through every moment of that time, he would be torn to death before Billy could return to his rescue.

      Should Billy Topsail fail to reach the pan – should Billy go down midway – he would surely be devoured.

      And Billy Topsail was no swimmer to boast of. Teddy knew that. He had heard Billy tell of it. Billy could keep afloat – could achieve a slow, splashing progress.

      That was true. Billy's chance of winning the pan was small. But Teddy was Labrador born and bred. What now commanded his fear was Billy's orders to duty. Obedience to a skipper was laid on all men. It must be instant and unfailing in an emergency. Billy was in command. He was responsible. It was for the boy to obey. That was the teaching of his habitat.

      Consequently Teddy Brisk's terror yielded and he stood fast.

      When Billy began to strip, the dogs were disturbed. What was the man up to? What was this? Queer proceeding this! It was a trick. When he stood naked in the wind the dogs were uneasy. When he went into the water they were alarmed. They withdrew. Cracker and Smoke ran to the water's edge and stared at Billy – keeping half an eye on the boy meantime. It troubles a dog to see a man in the water. Smoke whined. Cracker growled and crouched to leap after Billy. He could easily overtake and drown Billy.

      Teddy went at Cracker and Smoke with his club.

      He screamed at them:

      "Back, you, Cracker! Back, you, Smoke!"

      The dogs responded to this furious authority. They scurried away and rejoined the others. Teddy taunted them. He laughed at the pack, challenged it – crutch under his left arm and club swinging in his right hand. He taunted the dogs by name – Cracker and Smoke and Tucker. This bewildered the dogs. They were infinitely suspicious. The boy hobbled at them in a rage, a few feet forth – the seal-leather line round his waist limited him – and defied them. They retreated.

      When Teddy returned to the edge of the field they sat regarding him in amazement and renewed suspicion. In this way for a time the boy kept the dogs at a distance – by exciting their surprise and suspicion. It sufficed for a space. The dogs were curious. They were entertained. What was strange in the behaviour of the quarry, moreover, was fearsome to the dogs. It indicated unknown resources. The dogs waited.

      Presently Teddy could devise no new startling gestures. He was never silent – he was never still; but his fantastic antics, growing familiar and proving innocuous, began to fail of effect. Something else – something out of the way and unexpected – must be done to distract and employ the attention of the dogs. They were aware of Billy Topsail's absence – they were cunning cowards and they would take advantage of the opportunity.