His appraisal
of the girl struck Rainey with apprehension. "To the victor belong the
spoils." Somehow the quotation persisted. What if Lund regarded the girl
as legitimate loot? He might have talked differently beforehand, to
assure himself of Rainey's support.

And Rainey suddenly felt as if his support had been uncalled upon, a
frail reed at best. Lund had not needed him, would he need him, save as
an aid, not altogether necessary, with Hansen aboard, to run the ship?

He said nothing, but thrust both hands into the side pockets of the
pilot coat he had acquired from the ship's stores. The sudden touch of
cold steel gave him new courage. He had sworn to protect the girl. If
Lund, seeming more like a pirate than ever, with his cold eyes sweeping
the horizon, his bulk casting Rainey's into a dwarf's by comparison,
attempted to harm Peggy Simms, Rainey resolved to play the part of
champion.

He could not shoot like Lund, but he was armed. There were undoubtedly
more cartridges in the clip. And he must secure the rest from Carlsen's
cabin immediately.

The sun reached its height, and Lund busied himself with his sextant.
Rainey determined to ask him to teach him the use of it. His consent or
refusal would tell him where he stood with Lund.

He felt the mastery of the man. And he felt incompetent beside him.
Carlsen had been right. A ship at sea was a little world of its own, and
Lund was now lord of it. A lord who would demand allegiance and enforce
it. He held the power of life and death, not by brute force alone. He
was the only navigator aboard, with the skipper seriously ill. As such
alone he held them in his hand, once they were out of sight of land.

"Hansen," said Lund, "Mr. Rainey'll relieve you after we've eaten. Come
on, Rainey. You ain't lost yore appetite, I hope. Watch me discard that
spoon for a knife an' fork. I don't have to play blind man enny longer."

Food did not appeal to Rainey. He could not help thinking of the spot
under the cloth where Tamada had wiped up the blood of the man just
killed by Lund, sitting opposite him, making play for a double helping
of victuals.

It was Lund's apparent callousness that affected him more than his own
squeamishness. He could not regret Carlsen's death. With the doctor
alive, his own existence would have been a constant menace. But he was
not used to seeing a killing, though, in his water-front detail, he had
not been unacquainted with grim tragedies of th