Ishikola, despite his twisted body, was only seconds behind him.
"What name that fella gun stop 'm along bottom ?" Van Horn indignantly demanded.
The dandy, in the stern, with a careless look upward, tried with his foot to shove over the green leaves so as to cover the out-jutting butts of several rifles, but made the matter worse by exposing them more fully.

He bent to rake the leaves over with his hand, but sat swiftly upright when Van Horn roared at him: "Stand clear! Keep 'm fella hand belong you long way big bit!" Van Horn turned on Ishikola, and simulated wrath which he did not feel against the ancient and ever-recurrent trick.
"What name you come alongside, gun he stop along canoe belong you ?" he demanded.
The old salt-water chief rolled his one eye and blinked a fair simulation of stupidity and innocence.
"My word, me cross along you too much," Van Horn continued.

"Ishikola, you plenty bad fella boy.

You get 'm to hell overside." The old fellow limped across the deck with more agility than he had displayed coming aboard, straddled the barbed wire without assistance, and without assistance dropped into the canoe, cleverly receiving his weight on his uninjured leg.

He blinked up for forgiveness and in reassertion of innocence.