CHAPTER XX
DOWN BELOW
GEORGE and Hank went forward to superintend the work of the Chinks on the bowsprit; Candon, at the wheel and well content with the work of the night, felt thirsty. There was no one to fetch him a drink, tea was what he fancied and thinking of tea made him think of the tea things which were in the cabin. Then he remembered what Hank had said about the cabin door being closed.
It occurred to him now that the girl had bolted the door. No doubt the poor creature was half crazy with fright. It had not occurred before to the ingenuous and benevolent B. C. that the girl must look on her new captors as more terrible than even the white slavers. The yelling and the shooting, the stampeding of the camp, the way she had been seized, caught up and carried off—why, what must she think of them! Up to this he had been too busy to think himself. It was only now, as Hank would have said, that the thing suddenly hit him on the head like an orange.
“Hank!” shouted B. C.
“Coming,” replied Hank. He came aft.
“I’m thinking of the girl down below, it’s she that’s most likely fastened the door, she’s most likely scared out of her life the way we’ve took her off and not knowing who we are.”
“Sure,” said Hank.
“She nearly tore my head off as I was carrying her—I remember getting a cat out of a trap once, it acted just the same—scared—”
“Listen,” said Hank, who was standing close to the cabin skylight.