uckled audibly, as if his ability to do without
sleep were a rare joke.

"I'm not," retorted Trask, and rolled over significantly.

"You don't reckon Mr. Peth he's actin' up none, do ye? The skipper
he goes walkin' 'round like he had somethin' wearin' down on his
mind."

"You better ask him, Doc," said Trask.

"Huh! Ketch me goin' out and confabbin' around with the ol' man!
He'd shore hang somethin' on mah haid. Mr. Trask, 'fo' God, I can't
git no sleep when I'm a-worried. It all kind o' makes my skin go
all crawly when there's somethin' projectin' around and I don't
know of it. Yo' shore there ain't nothin' bad nohow?"

"There will be, if you don't get out of that door! Go bring some
water."

Doc gurgled with a suppressed chuckle, and went to the galley,
where he could be heard pulling a cork in the dark. He was back in
a minute, and handed a glass in to Trask, who sat up to take it and
drink.

"If somebody hadn't a-swiped that gun o' yourn, I would take no
bother of it if Mr. Peth gits contrary with----"

"I've got another gun," said Trask. "And Mr. Locke has two."

Doc was silent for a time, as if he were pondering the matter.

"Yo' all shore come a-lookin' for b'ar," he opined, taking the
glass which Trask thrust out at him. "But yo' all don't need to be
squirmish about Mr. Peth. If he goes to act up, I'll settle his
hash."

"How's that?"

Doc chuckled again.

"I know how to handle that low-down trash," he whispered,
tragically. "I'd drap somethin' in his tea. Good-night, Mr. Trask."

"Good-night, Doc. Don't make a light."

"No, sah," and the steward crept away to his bunk, leaving Trask
staring up into the dark, turning over the situation in his mind,
and waiting for the dawn.

CHAPTER XI

MR. PETH DOES MOST AMAZING THINGS

Trask was up at dawn, and slipping out on deck, saw Jarrow sitting
on the forecastle head, drinking coffee, a plate of biscuits beside
him, while he kept watch on the island.

Doc stuck his head out of the galley. "Coffee, Mr. Trask?" he
called, cautiously.

Trask went back and stood in the door while he scanned the shore of
the island. The sun had come out of the sea, red and bleary, and
from the jungle came the calls of birds and the shrill cry of a
parrot evidently in distress about something in the brush.

There was not a sign of the dinghy. The schooner lay still in a
pool of colourful water, the coral and weeds on the bottom in plain
view, some of the