le like a schoolboy. Nor could I attack such a creature who had
but to twist my arm to break it. Nothing remained but to stand still and
accept the indignity. I had time to notice that the pockets of the dead
man had been emptied on the deck, and that his body and his grin had been
wrapped from view in canvas, the folds of which the sailor, Johansen, was
sewing together with coarse white twine, shoving the needle through with
a leather contrivance fitted on the palm of his hand.

Wolf Larsen dropped my hand with a flirt of disdain.

"Dead men's hands have kept it soft. Good for little else than
dish-washing and scullion work."

"I wish to be put ashore," I said firmly, for I now had myself in
control. "I shall pay you whatever you judge your delay and trouble to
be worth."

He looked at me curiously. Mockery shone in his eyes.

"I have a counter proposition to make, and for the good of your soul. My
mate's gone, and there'll be a lot of promotion. A sailor comes aft to
take mate's place, cabin-boy goes for'ard to take sailor's place, and you
take the cabin-boy's place, sign the articles for the cruise, twenty
dollars per month and found. Now what do you say? And mind you, it's
for your own soul's sake. It will be the making of you. You might learn
in time to stand on your own legs, and perhaps to toddle along a bit."

But I took no notice. The sails of the vessel I had seen off to the
south-west had grown larger and plainer. They were of the same
schooner-rig as the _Ghost_, though the hull itself, I could see, was
smaller. She was a pretty sight, leaping and flying toward us, and
evidently bound to pass at close range. The wind had been momentarily
increasing, and the sun, after a few angry gleams, had disappeared. The
sea had turned a dull leaden grey and grown rougher, and was now tossing
foaming whitecaps to the sky. We were travelling faster, and heeled
farther over. Once, in a gust, the rail dipped under the sea, and the
decks on that side were for the moment awash with water that made a
couple of the hunters hastily lift their feet.

"That vessel will soon be passing us," I said, after a moment's pause.
"As she is going in the opposite direction, she is very probably bound
for San Francisco."

"Very probably," was Wolf Larsen's answer, as he turned partly away from
me and cried out, "Cooky! Oh, Cooky!"

The Cockney popped out of the galley.

"Where's that boy? Tell him I want him."