‘And still Davidson could not accept it somehow; his contempt for these men was too great.

“‘I’ll be on the lookout,” he murmured. “Let them creep.”

“‘Look here, Davy,” she said. “I’ll go outside with them when they start, and it will be hard luck if I don’t find something to laugh at. They are used to that from me. Laugh or cry—what’s the odds. You will be able to hear me on board this quiet night. Dark it is, too. Oh! It’s dark, Davy! It’s dark!”

“‘Don’t you run any risks,” said Davidson. Presently he called her attention to the boy, who, less flushed now, had dropped into a sound sleep. “Look. He’ll be all right.”

‘She made as if to snatch the child to her breast, but restrained herself. Davidson prepared to go. She whispered hurriedly:

“‘Mind, Davy! I’ve told them that you generally sleep aft in a hammock under the awning over the cabin. They have been asking me about your ways and about your ship, too. I told them all I knew. I had to keep in with them. And Bamtz would have told them if I hadn’t—you understand?”

‘He made her a friendly sign and went out. The men about the table (except Bamtz) looked at him. This time it was Fector who spoke. “Won’t you join us in a quiet game, Captain?”

‘Davidson said that now the boy was better he thought he would go on board and turn in. Fector was the only one of the four whom he had, so to speak, never seen, for he had had a good look at the Frenchman. He observed his muddy eyes, his mean, bitter mouth. His contempt for those men rose in his gorge, while his placid smile, his gentle tones and general air of innocence put heart into them. They exchanged meaning glances.

“‘We shall be sitting late over the cards,” Fector said in his harsh, low voice.

“‘Don’t make more noise than you can help.”

“‘Oh! We are a quiet lot. And if the invalid shouldn’t be so well she will be sure to send one of us down to call you, so that you may play the doctor again. So don’t shoot at sight.”

“‘He isn’t a shooting man,” struck in Niclaus.

“‘I never shoot before making sure there’s a reason for it—at any rate,” said Davidson.

‘Bamtz let out a sickly snicker. The Frenchman alone got up to make a bow to Davidson’s careless nod. His stumps were immovably stuck in his pockets. Davidson understood now the reason.

‘He went down to the ship. His wits were working actively and he was thoroughly angry. He smiled, he says (it must have been the first grim smile of his life), at the thought of the seven-pound weight at the end of the Frenchman’s stump. The ruffian had taken that precaution in case of a quarrel that might arise over the division of the spoil. A man with an unsuspected power to deal killing blows could take his own part in a sudden scrimmage round a heap of money even against adversaries armed with revolvers, especially if he himself started the row.

“‘He’s ready to face any of his friends with that thing. But he will have no use for it. There will be no occasion to quarrel about these dollars here,” thought Davidson, getting on board quietly. He never paused to look if there was anybody about the decks. As a matter of fact, most of his crew were on shore, and the rest slept, stowed away in dark corners.

‘He had his plan, and he went to work methodically.