As he steered, he gave his orders to Mountain Joe to get ready with the anchor. The Southern Cross responded to her helm as a sensitive horse to the bit, and like a great white cloud she glided over the swell at the reef opening, and like a great white swan she floated into the lagoon.
Then the wind shook out the sails, and the rumble-tumble of the anchor chain sounded over the water as she came to in five fathoms, and within a pistol shot of the camping place.
Isbel was standing on the beach sheltering her eyes with her hand, and some of the Kanaka crew, recognizing her as a native, waved and shouted to her. She waved her hand in reply.
The schooner now swinging safely at her anchor, Schumer continued to give orders till all of the remaining sail was stowed.
Then he turned to Floyd.
"Now, we have her safe and sound," said he, "I propose we go down and have a look at the manifest, and so forth."
"You aren't going to land any of these people yet?" asked Floyd, following him down the companionway to the saloon.
"Not yet," said Schumer; "and when I do land them it won't be at our camping ground. Hello, you nigger!" this to Mountain Joe, who had followed them down; "what you doing here? Get on deck or I'll boot you up the ladder—cheek!"
Mountain Joe vanished.
"Look here," said Floyd, as he shut the door of the saloon, "do you believe that yarn of the fish poisoning?"