“Don’t come any nearer, Carlton. What do you want?”
“We’ll give you one-third and let you go,” shouted Carlton, standing up in the plunging boat.
“You’ll get all of it, or none,” answered Henninger, and without another word Carlton rowed himself back to shore.
“Serve him right to take a shot at him,” muttered Hawke, handling his rifle.
“No, don’t do that,” said Elliott. “Let’s fight fair, if we are in a close corner.”
But the fighting was delayed. For hours deep peace brooded over the island, while the whitecaps grew, crashing upon the reef, and the dhow strained at her single cable. The steamer was invisible, owing to her position, but she blew her whistle several times in a curious fashion, to which answer was made by the wigwagging of a white cloth just visible above the crest of the hill.
“They’re plotting something. I wish I knew what it was,” Henninger said, anxiously, searching the hill with the glass.
“The reis thinks the cable won’t hold if the weather freshens much more,” said Bennett, who had been conversing with the skipper. “If it breaks we’ll drift on the island, and they’ll sure have us.”
“Don’t borrow trouble,” said Elliott.