She was learning not to fear his brusque ways. He was no carpet knight, and men who carry their lives in their hands do not pick and choose their words.
“I thought you were in danger, so I came to help,” she said calmly.
“You must go back to your cabin at once.”
“Why? Of what avail is the safety of my cabin if you are killed?”
A woman’s logic is apt to be irritating when one expects a flight of arrows, or, it may be, a gunshot, out of the blackness a few feet away.
“For goodness’ sake, stand here, then,” he cried, seizing her arm, and compelling her to shelter behind the heavy molding which carried the bridge.
She did not object to his roughness. In the midst of actual peril, impressions are apt to be cameo-cut in their preciseness, and she liked him all the more because he treated her quite roughly. Of course, the mere presence of a woman at such a time was a hindrance. But she was determined not to return to her stateroom, and, indeed, her obstinacy was reasonable enough, seeing the condition of affairs on board the Kansas.
The captain quitted her for a moment in order to dispatch a Chilean sailor for a lantern and a long cord. He wished to investigate the captured canoe.
Christobal, who had made the round of the promenade deck, came up.
“Oh, were you here, too?” he asked, on seeing the girl.