was accidental drowning."

"But on deck--?"

"Just so. I don't mind telling you, in confidence, of course, that
they used an axe."

"This present crew of yours?"

Captain Hansen nodded.

"The other skipper always was too careless," explained the mate. "He
but just turned his back, when they let him have it."

"We haven't any show down here," was the skipper's complaint. "The
government protects a nigger against a white every time. You can't
shoot first. You've got to give the nigger first shot, or else the
government calls it murder and you go to Fiji. That's why there's so
many drowning accidents."

Dinner was called, and Bertie and the skipper went below, leaving the
mate to watch on deck.

"Keep an eye out for that black devil, Auiki," was the skipper's
parting caution. "I haven't liked his looks for several days."

"Right O," said the mate.

Dinner was part way along, and the skipper was in the middle of his
story of the cutting out of the _Scottish Chiefs_.

"Yes," he was saying, "she was the finest vessel on the coast. But
when she missed stays, and before ever she hit the reef, the canoes
started for her. There were five white men, a crew of twenty Santa
Cruz boys and Samoans, and only the super-cargo escaped. Besides,
there were sixty recruits. They were all kai-kai'd. Kaikai?--oh, I
beg your pardon. I mean they were eaten. Then there was the _James
Edwards_, a dandy-rigged--"

But at that moment there was a sharp oath from the mate on deck and a
chorus of savage cries. A revolver went off three times, and then was
heard a loud splash. Captain Hansen had sprung up the companionway on
the instant, and Bertie's eyes had been fascinated by a glimpse of him
drawing his revolver as he sprung. Bertie went up more circumspectly,
hesitating before he put his head above the companionway slide. But
nothing happened. The mate was shaking with excitement, his revolver
in his hand. Once he startled, and half-jumped around, as if danger
threatened his back.

"One of the natives fell overboard," he was saying, in a queer tense
voice. "He couldn't swim."

"Who was it?" the skipper demanded.

"Auiki," was the answer.

"But I say, you know, I heard shots," Bertie said, in trembling
eagerness, for he scented adventure, and adventure that was happily
over with.

The mate whirled upon him, snarling:

"It's a damned lie. There ain't been a shot fired. The nigger fell
overboard."

Ca