erved him creeping painfully aloft to a topsail, or drooping
wearily as he stood at the wheel. But, still worse, it seemed that his
spirit was broken. He was abject before Wolf Larsen and almost grovelled
to Johansen. Not so was the conduct of Leach. He went about the deck
like a tiger cub, glaring his hatred openly at Wolf Larsen and Johansen.

"I'll do for you yet, you slab-footed Swede," I heard him say to Johansen
one night on deck.

The mate cursed him in the darkness, and the next moment some missile
struck the galley a sharp rap. There was more cursing, and a mocking
laugh, and when all was quiet I stole outside and found a heavy knife
imbedded over an inch in the solid wood. A few minutes later the mate
came fumbling about in search of it, but I returned it privily to Leach
next day. He grinned when I handed it over, yet it was a grin that
contained more sincere thanks than a multitude of the verbosities of
speech common to the members of my own class.

Unlike any one else in the ship's company, I now found myself with no
quarrels on my hands and in the good graces of all. The hunters possibly
no more than tolerated me, though none of them disliked me; while Smoke
and Henderson, convalescent under a deck awning and swinging day and
night in their hammocks, assured me that I was better than any hospital
nurse, and that they would not forget me at the end of the voyage when
they were paid off. (As though I stood in need of their money! I, who
could have bought them out, bag and baggage, and the schooner and its
equipment, a score of times over!) But upon me had devolved the task of
tending their wounds, and pulling them through, and I did my best by
them.

Wolf Larsen underwent another bad attack of headache which lasted two
days. He must have suffered severely, for he called me in and obeyed my
commands like a sick child. But nothing I could do seemed to relieve
him. At my suggestion, however, he gave up smoking and drinking; though
why such a magnificent animal as he should have headaches at all puzzles
me.

"'Tis the hand of God, I'm tellin' you," is the way Louis sees it. "'Tis
a visitation for his black-hearted deeds, and there's more behind and
comin', or else--"

"Or else," I prompted.

"God is noddin' and not doin' his duty, though it's me as shouldn't say
it."

I was mistaken when I said that I was in the good graces of all. Not
only does Thomas Mugridge continue to hate me, but