“Not if I can help it; but I don’t mean to let Lingerwell kill his companion, without putting a finger in the pie. Go to the cabin, and bring out the long tiller. You will find it under the berth you slept in.”
“But I don’t like the idea of getting into a fight with such a fellow as Tim Lingerwell,” protested Bolingbroke, without heeding the request.
“I don’t care whether you like it or not. It is plain enough that we ought to do something when a man is trying to kill another. Bring out the tiller!”
Mr. Millweed obeyed the order this time. Dory took the tiller, and placed it at his side, where it would be ready for use if the occasion should require.
“There is a round stick by the centre-board casing. You had better have that in your hand, for you may want to defend yourself before we get through with this business. I don’t know what the quarrel is about; but we are likely to find out very soon,” added Dory.
“Help! Help! Murder!”
“There it is again!” exclaimed the skipper, not a little excited by this time.
“It’s awful, isn’t it, Dory?” added Bolingbroke, his teeth chattering with terror at the terrible sounds that were borne over the dark waters.
“Juniper, ahoy!” screamed Dory, forming a speaking-trumpet with his two hands. “What’s the matter?”
No reply came back in answer to the question. Just then Dory began to wonder whether or not these cries were not a trick to call the Goldwing out from her hiding-place. The wind had just breezed up; and Tim Lingerwell might fear that the fugitive would escape him, after all his labor and pains to capture him.