Jim sprang wildly on to the thwart and cheered. The cowpuncher laid down his Winchester, and bent his eagle eye upon the man with renewed keenness.
"He's white, shore enough!" he exclaimed, and burst into a strange laugh of relief.
The Kanaka gave a short, expressionless grunt, whilst Jack clambered to his feet, and with one hand round the mast to balance himself, shouted out the question:
"Can we get into the lagoon?"
"No; better land here. Look out for the surf, though. Where you from?"
"Shipwrecked!" replied Jack.
Acting on the stranger's advice, Tari turned the boat's head shorewards. The sail was lowered and mast unstepped, whilst Jim and Broncho shipped two oars and prepared to pull or backwater, according as the Kanaka should direct.
Skilfully Tari ran her in, and then waited just outside the broken water for a good opportunity.
Picking out the last of three big waves, he signed to Jim and Broncho to give way, and off went the whaleboat, swooping forward on the crest of the roller.
Straight as an arrow Tari kept her head, and the boat danced along without shipping more than a cupful or two of water; then, judging his time to a nicety, the Kanaka backed her off as the breaker toppled and fell crashing; again, with wild cries of encouragement, he bade them pull, and the boat was hurled towards the beach in the midst of a raging mass of foam, which kept Jack busy baling as it boiled around and lipped in over the gunwale.