“Lord, I hadn’t thought of that,” said B. C. almost in his old voice. “Well, I’ll go off and fetch them. I’ve got to fetch a couple of things I’ve left in my locker anyway.” He turned.
“Fetch the ammunition if you’re going,” said George.
“Sure.”
They heard him calling the Chinks, then the boat put off.
“Seems he’s still bent on quitting,” said Hank.
George yawned.
If the air of the Bay of Whales could be condensed and bottled, morphia would be a drug in the drug market. It had the two men now firmly in its grip. They determined to turn in without waiting for B. C., and Tommie, retiring to her tent, seemed as heavy with sleep as the others. She was not. She did not undress but just lay down on a blanket, her chin in the palms of her hands and gazing out on the starlit beach as though hypnotized.
She was gazing at Candon.
He was the only man she had ever thought twice about, he was different from the others, she could not tell how. The fact that he was Vanderdecken did not make this difference, nor the fact that he had picked her up and literally run away with her, nor the fact that he had beautiful blue eyes. He was just different and she felt that she would never meet anyone like him again.
Yet he was going to leave them. Instinctively she knew why. That outburst when they found the cache sanded over gave her some knowledge of his temperament; and the fact that he had almost killed himself hunting for her gave her some hint of his care for her. And she had laughed at him.