"Take your seats, gents, the performance is about to commence," remarked Broncho coolly.
But the albatross only circled slowly round, evidently rather diffident about beginning the attack.
"He's cuttin' kyards with himself as to whether he'll jump in an' skeer us up some, or lope back an' make a report on our poseetion," was the cowboy's interpretation of the bird's actions.
"He's going," exclaimed Jim, with a long breath of relief.
"He's wise! It's just the tenderness of hell saves him from our bowies that time," drawled Broncho, with a grim smile.
For nearly an hour they floated with knives drawn, but the fierce birds never came within range of the flashing steel again, though they kept wheeling round the castaways in a manner which was very trying to the nerves.
About 2 p.m. the old whaler was only about a hundred yards off, and drifting right down upon them.
"Let's give 'em a shout," proposed Jack. "A whaler would think nothing of launching a boat in this sea."
"Whoopee!" yelled Broncho; but there was no sign of any one moving on the barque.
"Co-oo-ee!" sang Jack; but still no result.