“Go back to sleep, boy,” he said kindly. “We need you, and we’re goin’ to need you more when we get ashore. You’ve been talkin’ in your sleep till you plumb scared me.”
But I was wide awake by that time, and he had had as little sleep as I had. I refused, and we went forward together, Jones to get coffee, which stood all night on the galley stove.
It was still dark. The dawn, even in the less than four weeks we had been out, came perceptibly later. At the port forward corner of the after house, Jones stumbled over something, and gave a sharp exclamation. The next moment he was on his knees, lighting a match.
Burns lay there on his face, unconscious, and bleeding profusely from a cut on the back of his head—but not dead.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE AXE IS GONE
My first thought was of the after house. Jones, who had been fond of Burns, was working over him, muttering to himself. I felt his heart, which was beating slowly but regularly, and, convinced that he was not dying, ran down into the after house. The cabin was empty: evidently the guard around the pearl handled revolver had been given up on the false promise of peace. All the lights were going, however, and the heat was suffocating.
I ran to Miss Lee’s door, and tried it. It was locked, but almost instantly she spoke from inside:
“What is it?”
“Nothing much. Can you come out?”
She came a moment later, and I asked her to call into each cabin to see if every one was safe. The result was reassuring—no one had been disturbed; and I was put to it to account to Miss Lee for my anxiety without telling her what had happened. I made some sort of excuse, which I have forgotten, except that she evidently did not believe it.