"Now ye got me," said Jarrow. "I guess Peth's crazy in his head. He's got 'em all buggy on this gold business, far's I can see. All right, let 'em stick to Peth."
"But they'll starve," said Trask. "Suppose they did find gold in piles? What good would it do them? They'd have to beg to be taken back aboard here, wouldn't they?"
Jarrow blew into his coffee, gulped some of it, and raised his eyes in utter dejection to look over at the island. The schooner lay with her head to the northeast in response to a current that came around the northern end of the island and almost parallel with it.
"When people are out of their heads, no knowin' what they'll do," declared Jarrow. "Peth, he's always for makin' money in heaps. He can't see beyond his nose. Now I'm for goin' safe and sure. You ain't got no idea how he's bothered me off and on for the last couple years. But I had to humour him—he owns an eighth of the Nuestra."
"He can't have much sense if he thinks gold's to be sacked up and carted away," said Trask. "Here's Mr. Locke."
"Looks like this ought to be a good place to fish," said Locke, coming forward. He was wearing an old suit of white, but had on tan shoes, as if he expected to go walking, and a shirt open at the neck. His nose was peeled from sunburn, and he stroked it gently.
"What's going on?" he demanded, seeing that Jarrow and Trask were serious-faced, each waiting for the other to speak. He looked about the decks questioningly.
"The devil to pay," said Jarrow.
"Crew's gone," said Trask.
"Crew! Gone! Where?"