“What’s the plan of action?”
Jim considered.
“I don’t believe the captain would like us to tackle him alone,” he said. “I don’t think he’d get away from us—but he might, if he’s that big, powerful Swede. We want witnesses and authority, anyhow. I’ll mount guard at the entrance to that alley-way, Wal, and you go and rouse Mr. Dixon.”
“H’m,” said Wally. “And if the beast rushes you?”
“Well, he must rush,” said Jim, philosophically. “We can’t both stay, and I’d better be the one, being the stronger. Clear out, old man—look sharp! I wouldn’t let old Dixon miss seeing those flashes for a fiver!”
The entrance to the alley-way leading to the suspected cabin was dark and silent, and no faintest glimmer of light came from the skylight over the shut door. Jim took his stand in the narrow passage, bracing his muscles in case of a rush in the dark. No one could get past him, in so small a space; but a strong and determined man would, he knew, make short work of him in a wild dash for safety. Jim was grimly certain that the Swede might go over him, but not without a struggle. He clenched his fists, watching the door—imagining each instant that he heard a stealthy movement, or the slow creaking as the handle turned.
Mr. Dixon, roused from health-giving slumber, was incredulous and wrathful.
“You kids are a first-class nuisance!” he said, sleepily, getting into his coat. “If this is another false alarm, Wally, I’ll have you keel-hauled!”
Wally possessed his soul in patience while his body shivered—the wind on the officer’s deck blew keen and shrill, and Mr. Dixon was far too annoyed to offer him the shelter of the cabin. The boy’s teeth were chattering when the chief officer emerged and ran up the steps to the bridge. He returned in a moment, followed by two of the watch.
“Now, where’s this precious spy-hole of yours?” demanded he.