Nat hastily dropped some distance down his rope as he heard footsteps crossing the cabin floor. Evidently, whoever had uttered the shout, meant to investigate the cause of the accident. The shade was pushed aside and Nat saw a head thrust out. His discovery appeared inevitable.
CHAPTER VIII.
HOW IT WORKED OUT.
What with the stunning effect of the blow he had received as he was swung against the schooner's stern works and the shock of the accident which had followed, Nat's senses almost left him for an instant. Like one in a dream he hung there, just under the swell of the vessel's counter and listened to the voices above him. They were Colonel Morello's and Ed. Dayton's.
"What in the name of Beelzebub was it?" he heard Dayton's harsh voice inquiring.
"I don't know. I could have sworn for an instant that I saw the flash of a hand through the window," growled out Morello—evidently from the nearness of the sound he still had his head outside the cabin port.
"Bah! How could that be?" scoffed Dayton from within, "unless the schooner is haunted. It must have been the last lurch she gave."
"That must have been it," agreed Morello, withdrawing his head, "but, at any rate, our supply of liquor was knocked off that shelf and the bottle broken. What do you say if we go forward and get some more?"
"The very thing," Nat could hear Dayton reply. The next instant he heard the slam of a door float through the open port above him and knew that the cabin must be empty.
Now was his time to act then, and fortunately for him, with his returning senses there had come a slight lull in the wind. The schooner was steadier, and by dint of pressing his knees against her structure when he climbed above the overhang of the stern he managed to ascend at a famous rate.