Ralph gave no sign that he had heard anything unusual. He kept his gaze apparently riveted on the shore and sat motionless, without the quiver of a muscle. But for all his seeming calmness, he sensed that a crisis of some kind had arrived.
Then out of the darkness emerged the figure of Malvin. The man was a very different being from the obsequious creature he had hitherto appeared to be. His voice rang harsh and stridently and in his hand Ralph could catch the glint of a pistol.
The weapon was aimed at the boy’s head.
“See here, Stetson,” the fellow grated, “you’re alone on this boat and in my power. Are you going to do what I say without making trouble?”
Ralph did not turn. There was not the flicker of an eyelid to show the great bound his heart had given as he realized his situation. That Malvin was a desperate man, the boy knew well enough; but just the same, he had not believed that the man would ever dream of adopting the tactics he had now assumed.
“Well?”
Malvin’s grating voice, a very different one from the honeyed accents he had hitherto used to address the young commander, came again in tones of impatient interrogation.
“Supposing, as commander of this boat, I don’t choose to take orders from you?” questioned Ralph.
“In that case, jig is up for you, young fellow.”
“Going to kill me?” asked Ralph without a quiver in his voice, although a very unpleasant feeling had taken possession of him.