sen!" he called softly. "Johansen!"

"Where is he?" he demanded of Harrison.

The young fellow seemed to have recovered his composure, for he answered
steadily enough, "I don't know, sir. I saw him go for'ard a little while
ago."

"So did I go for'ard. But you will observe that I didn't come back the
way I went. Can you explain it?"

"You must have been overboard, sir."

"Shall I look for him in the steerage, sir?" I asked.

Wolf Larsen shook his head. "You wouldn't find him, Hump. But you'll
do. Come on. Never mind your bedding. Leave it where it is."

I followed at his heels. There was nothing stirring amidships.

"Those cursed hunters," was his comment. "Too damned fat and lazy to
stand a four-hour watch."

But on the forecastle-head we found three sailors asleep. He turned them
over and looked at their faces. They composed the watch on deck, and it
was the ship's custom, in good weather, to let the watch sleep with the
exception of the officer, the helmsman, and the look-out.

"Who's look-out?" he demanded.

"Me, sir," answered Holyoak, one of the deep-water sailors, a slight
tremor in his voice. "I winked off just this very minute, sir. I'm
sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"Did you hear or see anything on deck?"

"No, sir, I--"

But Wolf Larsen had turned away with a snort of disgust, leaving the
sailor rubbing his eyes with surprise at having been let of so easily.

"Softly, now," Wolf Larsen warned me in a whisper, as he doubled his body
into the forecastle scuttle and prepared to descend.

I followed with a quaking heart. What was to happen I knew no more than
did I know what had happened. But blood had been shed, and it was
through no whim of Wolf Larsen that he had gone over the side with his
scalp laid open. Besides, Johansen was missing.

It was my first descent into the forecastle, and I shall not soon forget
my impression of it, caught as I stood on my feet at the bottom of the
ladder. Built directly in the eyes of the schooner, it was of the shape
of a triangle, along the three sides of which stood the bunks, in
double-tier, twelve of them. It was no larger than a hall bedroom in
Grub Street, and yet twelve men were herded into it to eat and sleep and
carry on all the functions of living. My bedroom at home was not large,
yet it could have contained a dozen similar forecastles, and taking into
consideration the height of the ceiling, a score at least.

It sm