me a coward--the two
captives, yes, Jean Lafitte and Henri L'Olonnois and myself, Black
Bart--all the ship's owners. What lacked? For a moment I could not
tell why I had the vague feeling that something or some one was
missing.

"Willy," said I at last, "where's John, the cook?"

"Why, I don't know," said Willy. "Didn't he come with you?"

CHAPTER XXXII

IN WHICH I RESCUE THE COOK

"What's that?" said Peterson sharply--"you didn't obey orders?"

"Well, I thought he was in the other boat," explained Willy, hanging
his head.

"You'll get your time," said the old man quietly, "soon as we get to
the railroad--and you'll go home by rail."

"What are you trying to do, Mr. Harry?" he demanded of me, a moment
later. I was looking at the long boat.

"Well, he's part of the boat's company," said I, "and we've got to
save him, Peterson."

"What's that?" asked Helena now coming up--and then, "Why, John, our
cook, isn't here, is he?" She, too, looked at the long boat and at the
sea. "How horrible!" she said. "Horrible!"

"What does he mean to do?" she demanded now of Peterson in turn. The
old man only looked at her.

"Surely, you don't mean to go out there again," she said.

I turned to them both, half cold with anger. "Do you think I'd leave
him out there to die, perhaps? It was my own fault, not to see him in
the boat."

"It wasn't," reiterated Peterson. "It was Willy's fault--or mine."

"In either case it's likely to be equally serious for him. We can't
leave the poor devil helpless, that way."

"Mr. Harry," began Peterson again, "he's only a Chinaman."

"Take shame to yourself for that, Peterson," said I. "He's a part of
the boat's company--a good cook--yes, but more than a good cook----"

"Well, why didn't he come up with the rest of us?"

"Because he was at his place of duty, below, until ordered up," said
I.

Peterson pondered for a moment. "That's right," said he at length;
"I'll go out with you."

I felt Helena's hand on my arm. "It's awful out there," said she. But
I only turned to look at her in the half-darkness and shook off her
hand.

"You can't launch the big boat," said Peterson. "You'd only swamp her,
if you tried."

"That may be," said I, "but the real thing is to try."

"We might wait till the wind lulls," he argued.

"Yes, and if the wind should change she might drag her anchor and go
out to sea. Which boat is best to take, Peterson?"

A strange feeling of calm came ov