“Why, Sasa? You don’t like it? Why?”
McLagan’s questions came sharply and on the instant. There was a half smile in his eyes. But there was nothing smiling behind them.
Sasa spat viciously on the deck.
“Bad spirit plenty,” he said with native panic in his widened eyes. “I go.”
And without waiting for reply, or, perhaps, because he feared lest he should be detained, he passed quickly across to the vessel’s rail where a heavy downhaul was sprawled on the deck. He flung it over the side. And in a moment he had followed it, and was swarming down to the rocks below.
“This thing’s got on his nerves,” Peter laughed.
McLagan nodded. But there was no responsive laughter.
“And I don’t somehow wonder,” he said. Then he shrugged. “I guess we can’t do any good here now. I’ll get along back, and pass right on into Beacon. I’ll need to make a report to Goodchurch on this. I surely will.”