, he would have to share a watch with
Jarrow.

In spite of the captain's evident desire to abandon the crew to
their fate, Trask still had a lurking suspicion that Jarrow was
more in sympathy with Peth's demands for extra money than his
heated language against the mate implied. And the young man was
determined that he would not relax his vigilance once Jarrow was on
deck again. So while he slept, Locke sat in the doorway of the
cabin and read while Marjorie played solitaire under a corner of
the awning and kept a watch toward shore.

Jarrow appeared late in the afternoon, and was rather morose and
silent. He went out on the forecastle and smoked, scanning the sea
and sky and complaining to himself that there was no wind. The sea
was as smooth as a field of liquid metal, great glassy swells
extending to the horizon all round, glinting in the sun. The heat
was oppressive until the sun dropped to the sea's rim, when dark
wind patches made their appearance to the southward on the surface
of the ocean. But still the calm held.

While the sky and sea were yet suffused with crimson from the
sun's afterglow Jarrow came aft, and without a word to any one, or
even a look, went on the poop, going up the port side.

Marjorie went in and peeped into Dinshaw's room. The old man was
sleeping, breathing gently, but lying like a man utterly exhausted,
flat on his back in his bunk.

As she came out on deck, where Trask and Locke sat watching the sea
and reconciling themselves to another night aboard the schooner in
the bight of the reef, Jarrow's voice came over the cabin trunk in
a low growl as he cleared his throat.

"We better talk this thing over," he suggested.

"All right, captain," said Locke. "Suppose you come down here."

Jarrow appeared at the starboard break of the poop, his hands on
his hips, a cigar aslant in his mouth. He gave the trio a critical
glance, and turned his head toward the island.

"Not much chance to get out to-night," began Locke. "Do you look
for a breeze?"

"I don't look for nothin'," said the captain, without looking at
Locke. "I been thinkin' this thing over," he said presently,
chewing his words with his cigar. "I'm out of pocket on this deal."

"How do you mean?" asked Locke, with a startled glance at Trask. He
had detected a belligerent note in the captain's voice.

"Just this," said Jarrow, with sudden vehemence, slapping his hand
down on the cabin roof, and turning a savage visage at t