ere a little tin god on wheels, and told me after you'd
gone that you'd come back and thrash me. You didn't, did you?" His
speech ended in a sneer.

"No, but I will when the time comes," answered Denman; but the mental
transition from pity to anger overcame him, and he sank back.

"Now, this is neither here nor there, Forsythe," said Sampson, sternly.
"You want a chronometer. When you get it, you've no more business here
than I have, and I think you'd better use your authority like a man, or
I'll call a meeting of the boys."

"Of course," answered Forsythe, looking at the big shoulders of Sampson.
"But, inasmuch as I knew this fellow from boyhood, and knew this little
girl when a child, the best care I can give her is to remove this chap
from her vicinity. We'll put him down the fore peak, and let one o' the
cooks feed her and nurse her."

"We'll see about that on deck," said Sampson, indignantly. "I'll talk--"

"Yes," broke in Denman, standing up. "Forsythe is right. It is not
fitting that I should be here alone with her. Put me anywhere you like,
but take care of her, as you are men and Americans."

Forsythe made no answer, but Sampson gave Denman a troubled, doubtful
look, then nodded, and followed Forsythe to the various rooms until he
had secured what he wanted; then they went on deck together.

But in an hour they were back; and, though Denman had heard nothing of a
conclave on deck, he judged by their faces that there had been one, and
that Forsythe had been overruled by the influence of Sampson. For
Sampson smiled and Forsythe scowled, as they led Denman into the
wardroom to his own berth, and locked him in with the assurance that the
cooks would feed him and attend to the wants of himself and the woman.

Billings soon came with arnica, plaster, and bandages, and roughly
dressed his wound; but he gave him no information of their plans.
However, Denman could still look out through a deadlight.

A few hours after the boat's engines had started, he could see a
steamer on the horizon, steering a course that would soon intercept that
of the destroyer.

She was a one-funneled, two-masted craft, a tramp, possibly, a working
boat surely; but he only learned when her striped funnel came to view
that she belonged to a regular line. She made no effort to avoid them,
but held on until within hailing distance, when he heard Forsythe's
voice from the bridge.

"Steamer ahoy!" he shouted. "What's your cargo?"

"Oi