and one for
Florrie.

The first was to release them all, and, backed by his pistol, his
uniform, and the power of the government, to treat them as mutineers,
and shoot them if they defied or disobeyed him.

To this was the logical objection that they were already more than
mutineers--that there was no future for them; that, even though he
overawed and conquered them, compelling them to work the boat shoreward,
each passing minute would find them more keen to revolt; and that, if
they rushed him in a body, he could only halt a few--the others would
master him.

The second plan was born of his thoughts before breakfast. It was to
release one cook, one engineer, and one helmsman at a time; to guard
them until sleep was necessary, then to shut off steam, lock them up,
and allow the boat to drift while they slept. Against this plan was the
absolute necessity, to a seaman's mind, of a watch--even a one-man
watch--and this one man could work mischief while he slept--could even,
if handy with tools, file out a key that would unlock the shackles.

The third plan was to starve them into contrition and subjection,
torturing them the while with the odors of food cooked for himself and
Florrie. But this was an inhuman expedient, only to be considered as a
last resource; and, besides, it would not affect the man doing the
cooking, who could keep himself well fed and obdurate. And, even though
they surrendered and worked their way back toward prison, would their
surrender last beyond a couple of good meals? He thought not. Yet out of
this plan came another, and he went down the companion.

"Florrie," he called, "can you cook?"

She appeared at the stateroom door without her bandages, smiling at his
query, and for the moment Denman forgot all about his plans. Though the
pink tinge still overspread her face, the blisters were gone, and, in
the half light of the cabin, it shone with a new beauty that had not
appeared to him in the garish sunlight when at breakfast--when he was
intent upon watching the men. His heart gave a sudden jump, and his
voice was a little unsteady as he repeated the question.

"Why, yes, Billie," she answered, "I know something about cooking--not
much, though."

"Will you cook for yourself and me?" he asked. "If so, I'll keep the men
locked up, and we'll wait for something to come along."

"I will," she said; "but you must keep them locked up, Billie."

"I'll do that, and fit you out with a pistol, too