D'ye 'ear? A
minute, a second too quick, an' I'll 'aunt you, so 'elp me, I will!"
Jacob Kent looked dubious, but declined to talk.
"'Ow's your chronometer? Wot's your longitude? 'Ow do you know as your
time's correct?" Cardegee persisted, vainly hoping to beat his
executioner out of a few minutes. "Is it Barrack's time you 'ave, or is
it the Company time? 'Cos if you do it before the stroke o' the bell,
I'll not rest. I give you fair warnin'. I'll come back. An' if you
'aven't the time, 'ow will you know? That's wot I want--'ow will you
tell?"
"I'll send you off all right," Kent replied. "Got a sun-dial here."
"No good. Thirty-two degrees variation o' the needle."
"Stakes are all set."
"'Ow did you set 'em? Compass?"
"No; lined them up with the North Star."
"Sure?"
"Sure."
Cardegee groaned, then stole a glance at the trail. The sled was just
clearing a rise, barely a mile away, and the dogs were in full lope,
running lightly.
"'Ow close is the shadows to the line?"
Kent walked to the primitive timepiece and studied it. "Three inches,"
he announced, after a careful survey.
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