rded, Barnett and Trendon, with
both of whom the lad was a favourite, came to a sinister conclusion.

"It's poison, I suppose," said the first officer.

"And a mighty subtle sort," agreed Trendon. "Don't like the looks of it."
He shook a solemn head. "Don't like it for a damn."

IV

THE SECOND PRIZE CREW

In semi-tropic Pacific weather the unexpected so seldom happens as to be
a negligible quantity. The _Wolverine_ met with it on June 5th. From
some unaccountable source in that realm of the heaven-scouring trades
came a heavy mist. Possibly volcanic action, deranging by its electric
and gaseous outpourings the normal course of the winds, had given birth
to it. Be that as it may, it swept down upon the cruiser, thickening as
it approached, until presently it had spread a curtain between the
warship and its charge. The wind died. Until after fall of night the
_Wolverine_ moved slowly, bellowing for the schooner, but got no
reply. Once they thought they heard a distant shout of response, but
there was no repetition.

"Probably doesn't carry any fog horn," said Carter bitterly, voicing a
general uneasiness.

"No log; compass crazy; without fog signal; I don't like that craft.
Barnett ought to have been ordered to blow the damned thing up, as a
peril to the high seas."

"We'll pick her up in the morning, surely," said Forsythe. "This can't
last for ever."

Nor did it last long. An hour before midnight a pounding shower fell,
lashing the sea into phosphorescent whiteness. It ceased, and with the
growl of a leaping animal a squall furiously beset the ship. Soon the
great steel body was plunging and heaving in the billows. It was a gloomy
company about the wardroom table. Upon each and all hung an oppression of
spirit. Captain Parkinson came from his cabin and went on deck.
Constitutionally he was a nervous and pessimistic man with a fixed belief
in the conspiracy of events, banded for the undoing of him and his. Blind
or dubious conditions racked his soul, but real danger found him not only
prepared, but even eager. Now his face was a picture of foreboding.

"Parky looks as if Davy Jones was pulling on his string," observed the
flippant Ives to his neighbour.

"Worrying about the schooner. Hope Billy Edwards saw or heard or felt
that squall coming," replied Forsythe, giving expression to the anxiety
that all felt.

"He's a good sailor man," said Ives, "and that's a staunch little
schooner, by the way sh