"I don't," said Schumer; "I believe the white men were done up. They were a hard lot, most likely, and they met their match. There was fighting on deck, for there was a bullet mark on the wheel, one of the spokes was injured; not only that, I could tell from the manner of those fellows that the big Kanaka was lying. Ah, what's this?"
He went to one of the panels of the saloon by the door. It was split by a bullet.
"Look at that!" said he.
"It's clear enough," replied Floyd, "there has been fighting down here, too. Devils!"
"Oh, well," said Schumer, "we haven't heard their side of the story yet. Come on, let us search and see what we can find."
They entered the biggest cabin opening off the saloon. It was evidently the captain's. Here things were in order, the bunk undisturbed, and a suit of pajamas neatly folded on the quilt.
"Bunk hasn't even been lain on," said Schumer, "and where would a sick man lie but on his bunk or in it? These Kanakas are fools—soft heads; they can't put two and two together, or imagine other people doing it. Now, let's look for the ship's papers."
They hunted, but though they discovered the box which evidently had contained the papers, sign of papers or money there was none. Neither was there sign of the log.
"They have done away with them," said Floyd.
"Looks so," replied Schumer. "Unless the old man swallowed them before he died. Ah, here's a coat of his!"