"Couldn't be better," remarked Mr. McKay. "Now, lads, take him into the cabin, and start the stove as fast as you can. I'm afraid the arrow is poisoned."
Andy and Terence lifted their comrade upon one of the bunks opposite to that on which Quexo was peacefully slumbering. Mr. McKay had given the mulatto a strong sleeping draught; he now took up a rifle, and, withdrawing the cleaning rod, snapped it close to the "worm."
"You might take the helm, Blight," he remarked. "You know the course? I shall be busy for half an hour or so."
Blight nodded. Left alone, he gave a glimpse at the compass, put the tiller up till the vessel lay on her proper course, and motioned to the two canoes to follow.
Then he resumed his meditations. Everything seemed in his favour. Half a dozen revolvers, thrown down after the fight, were within hand's reach. In the cabin were two wounded persons and three totally unsuspecting unarmed men. And close by were the two canoes containing his coloured associates. What could be easier?
CHAPTER XV
A KNIFE-THRUST IN THE DARK
More than once Blight bent over the array of death-dealing weapons, but on each occasion his nerve failed him.
Accustomed as he was to deal swiftly with the natives, never hesitating to shoot down any black creature that thwarted him, he shrank from tackling his intended victims.