From behind the little group there came a piercing scream, and Sam Hartley turned just in time to catch Mrs. Chillingworth as she swooned.
“And there was no trace of her occupants?” asked Mr. Dacre, in a voice he strove to make steady in spite of the trembling of his lips.
The other shook his head.
“We had a tough blow last night,” he said, “and I guess that sloop went over before they could do a thing. My advice is to watch the beaches. Their bodies are likely to drift ashore sooner or later.”
CHAPTER XV.
“STEAMER, AHOY!”
“Well, Tom, all I can say is—we must keep on hoping for the best.”
It was Mr. Chillingworth who spoke, the morning after the casting away of the sloop.
He and Tom Dacre were standing against the lee rail of the schooner amidships, watching with gloomy faces the white spume as it sped by. Above them the canvas was bellied out, heeling the schooner smartly and putting her on her sailing lines. On the other hand, could be dimly seen the blue shores of the Strait of San Juan de Fuca. Bully Banjo’s schooner was making for the open Pacific, but what was her destination they had not the slightest idea.
The events of the night before seemed like a nightmare viewed in the crisp, sparkling, early daylight, with the white deck of a fast schooner under their feet. Somewhat to their surprise, Simon Lake had offered them no violence, and had even accommodated them with a berth in the cabin, turning out one of his own men for the purpose. If Mr. Chillingworth was as good a judge of human emotions as he deemed himself to be, it appeared to him that the Chinese runner was glad rather than otherwise at the way things had fallen out, and, so far at least, not disposed to offer them any active harm. At breakfast, which was just over, Simon Lake, who, with Zeb Hunt, had shared the meal with the castaways, had seemed particularly inclined to be amiable. One thing, though, was noticeable: he did not refer in any way to the occurrences of the night before, nor to the events which had preceded them. For all that appeared to the contrary, any listener to the conversation might have imagined that Tom Dacre and the rancher were honored guests of the sea ranger.
But, of course, all this show of friendliness had not for an instant deceived either of the castaways. Tom’s experience in Simon Lake’s camp had taught him just what the man was, and what he would dare to do. As for Mr. Chillingworth, he had long ago made up his mind that their present host was the most dangerous man on the Pacific Slope. Doubtless he was even now discussing a course of action with Zeb Hunt, down in the cabin, where both had been closeted since breakfast. Taking advantage of this, Tom and Mr. Chillingworth had slipped on deck to try to get an opportunity to talk the situation over.