Jarrow's advice sounded sensible enough. With the crew out in a boat there was little imminent danger, and Trask felt that it would be wise to remain aft, for if the crew suspected their game was known they might attempt to board the schooner from the stern. They would probably interpret the disappearance of the riding light as discovery aboard the schooner that they were missed and their treachery revealed to the heads of the expedition.
So Trask decided to go back to his room, even if he did not sleep, and being assured by Jarrow that immediately there was any sign of the boat he would be called, he made his way aft and went to bed fully dressed except for his shoes.
He had scarcely rolled into his bunk before he heard cautious footsteps in the cabin, and Doc Bird came scratching at his door.
"I reckon somethin's powerful wrong, Mr. Trask," he whispered.
"You get out of here and go to bed," said Trask. "And don't show a light for any reason until you have orders to."
"I got to be up early to make flapjack batter fo' yo' all," was Doc's reply. "I reckon I'll have to have a light in the galley and the fire goin' right smart long befo' the chickens is crowin' fo' day."
Trask knew it would do no good to get out of patience with Doc, for he was incorrigibly persistent and friendly in the face of any rebuff.
"Don't make any fire or light any lamps until you're told to," Trask reiterated. "And for heaven's sake, let me and everybody else get some sleep. Get some for yourself. Run along."
"Oh, don't yo' fret none fo' me, Mr. Trask. I'm a regular squinch owl," and he chuckled audibly, as if his ability to do without sleep were a rare joke.
"I'm not," retorted Trask, and rolled over significantly.