The Irishman rose and faced the Scotchman, his head thrust forward and a devil in his eyes.
"An' what if we were, Misther McTee?" he purred. "An' what if we wer-r-re, I'm askin'?"
Kate leaped to her feet and sprang between them.
"Is there anything we can do," she broke in hurriedly, "to get away from the island?"
"A raft?" suggested Harrigan.
McTee smiled his contempt.
"A raft? And how would you cut down the trees to make it?"
"Burn 'em down with a circle of fire at the bottom."
"And then set green logs afloat? And how fasten 'em together, even supposing we could burn them down and drag them to the water? No, there's no way of getting off the island unless a boat passes and catches a glimpse of our fire."
"Then we'll have to move this fire to the top of the hill," said Harrigan.
