Schumer's suggestion that the crew of the Southern Cross should be landed over at the fishing beach was plausible on the face of it. The men would work better after a night on shore; they would be on the spot in the morning, and so no time would be wasted bringing them across the lagoon, and it was certainly necessary that no time should be lost in putting up the huts, if they were to be put up, for the rainy season was fast approaching. All the same, he felt that there was more in the proposition than what met the eye.
He did not like the idea of being left alone here with Schumer and Luckman. It was true that the crew of the Domain would be on board their vessel, but she was anchored a good way out. The conviction came to him that whatever these two men had in mind was to be carried out that night, and that the Southern Cross would be the object of their plans as well as himself. Most possibly they would sink her at her anchorage after having disposed of him.
He determined, come what might, not to sleep ashore, and as they were finishing supper he made up his mind to state his intention at once.
"Well," said he, "I suppose I'd better get off and send those fellows across to the camp. I'll give them the whaleboat; it will hold the lot."
"Yes," said Schumer, "I'll come with you and start them off, and maybe you'd better sleep on board for to-night, as I've put Captain Luckman up in the house and there's only two beds."
"Yes, I'll sleep aboard," said Floyd, relieved, yet somewhat surprised at Schumer suggesting the very plan that was in his mind. "I've got all my tackle there, besides—well, shall we start?"
He looked round, on the chance of seeing Isbel, but she was nowhere about; then they left Luckman, smoking by the fire, and, going down to the lagoon edge, pushed off the quarter boat which was lying by the dinghy. They would have taken the dinghy, only that she had developed a leak. Schumer explained this as they rowed, and Floyd scarcely heard him; he was thinking of Isbel.
He could not possibly take her off with him, and she was safer ashore in the dangerous business that he felt was developing. He had no fear of harm coming to her left alone with Schumer and Luckman, for she was well able to take care of herself, and she was armed. She had told him so. All the same his heart felt heavy as lead at leaving her, even though they were separated only by a couple of cable lengths of water.
On board, he gave orders to Mountain Joe for the landing of the crew, and in a moment the deck was swarming. The idea of getting ashore set the fellows chattering and carrying on like school children just set free, and there were no hands wanted to assist at the falls.
In a moment the whaleboat was lowered and alongside and the crew tumbling into her. Schumer helped in the lowering of the boat and shouted directions to Mountain Joe, who took the stern oar.