“A tow! Some one is giving it a tow!” Once again her blood chilled. There had been no plans for moving the ship; this she knew. The old night watchman had said that the masts would be lowered during the night and the ship would be brought back within the lagoon.
“But this? What can it mean?”
She had not long to wait. A light came swinging forward. A gas lantern, it was carried by a short man. Two others were just behind him.
As they came into view she gasped. The leader of the trio was the long-eared Chinaman. The others were his fellow-countrymen. As if sure of his ground, he advanced slowly. There was something sinister, deadly, about that slow advance, like a march of death.
“Caught!” Her head whirled. She thought of leaping overboard. A strong swimmer, she might make land. But the blur of red and gold that was the Fair was dim, indistinct.
“We’re far off shore.” Taking a grip on herself, she held her ground.
She took to counting the short, gliding steps of those who approached. “One, two, three, four, five.”
They came to a halt. The leader advanced two steps farther.
“You will give me that knife!” His tone was low, smooth, musical, menacing.
“No!” Her tone was defiant.