"I like her," he said, thrusting the bullets within his shirt. "She's true blue and thinks of the right things. Likewise, she's a daughter of the sea!"
He rose and moved slowly toward the porthole. The outside now seemed nearer, for some reason; the friend on deck had warmed his blood. She was standing by in case of a blow.
The ship's bell was struck with a muffled marlinespike as Stirling stood in patient idleness. He counted the strokes, and heard a far closing of a hatch, sign that the anchor watch had changed. The sentry in the alleyway spoke to another who came to take his place. The new arrival tested the door and otherwise acted as if he would remain awake over the time allotted to his duties.
Suddenly, and in an unwarned manner, Stirling grew aware that ashore a shadow moved along the higher shelf of the cliff. This shadow was followed by a second and then a third. Men in ragged guise were descending the trail that led from the Siberian tableland to the land-locked harbour wherein lay the Pole Star.
The descending forms disappeared, as they entered a chasm in the rocky wall. They came into view again and stood upon a shelf which was directly over the taper jib boom of the ship. They pointed with swaying arms, first at the Pole Star, and then toward the open Gulf of Anadir. It was evident to Stirling that they never had been in the same locality before.
He drew upon his imagination as he tried to fathom the reason for the ragged visitors. They were not natives or Eskimos. Their matted hair and bold, staring eyes betokened Russians.
The leading figure issued a silent order by pointing upward, whereupon a man climbed the trail, disappeared in the chasm, and reappeared upon the shelf which marked the tableland. He vanished against the velvet of the sky, and a slow minute passed. There came then a score of heads over the edge, and a blurred mass of outcasts started down the pathway with the messenger leading them.
Stirling had seen enough to realize that the ship was in danger. Out of the barren land of Siberia figures had crept in an endeavour to reach the sea. They bore all the evidence of a terrible journey, and were in numbers sufficient to capture the ship.
No sound came from the deck of the poacher; the sentry at the door was leaning against the barrel of his rifle; the anchor watch slept profoundly. Fair game lay in the cove, and the hour was close when its enemies would strike.
"Let them come," said Stirling. "I'll not warn Marr. He brought it on himself."