“I don’t know. He probably will be back tonight, though. He warned me not to drink up all the whisky as he’d want some when he got back.”
I turned to Betty.
“Captain Brack is intoxicated, Miss Baldwin,” I said. “The doctor and I do not think it would be pleasant for you to be here when he returns.”
“No,” said the doctor, “you mustn’t be here then, Miss Baldwin.”
Betty’s wide-open eyes grew wider, but there was no alarm in the quiet gray depths of them.
“I understand,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “I will do whatever you suggest, Mr. Pitt.”
There lay the trouble. I had nothing to suggest, nor had the doctor. Flight suggested itself first of all, but in that wilderness, with only a light Peterboro canoe and a rough sea as means of escape, the success of such a move seemed improbable. To bring our fate to a crisis by remaining there openly, defying Brack and appealing to the men for help, would have been suicidal. Had we been on the yacht strengthened by Pierce and Wilson, such action might have had a basis of reason.
Really thoughts of Pierce and Wilson kept me from losing hope at that moment. Though by now I had more confidence in myself than I had thought possible, I did not feel that I was capable of finding a solution to the problem confronting us. But there were Pierce, the shrewd, and Wilson, the brave, still to reckon with. What were they thinking at that moment of our failure to return to the yacht? What would Pierce’s sharp mind be doing but seeking a way to assist us, or, at least Miss Baldwin, to safety?
And then I looked at Betty, quietly serious, but not alarmed, and my spirits rose at the sight of her. It was no strength of mine that raised my courage then; it was the strength I drew from the courage of Betty. Once more, as in the canoe, I felt a desire to cry out:
“Bravo, Betty! Bravo, brave girl! We’ll beat him yet.”