LITMIR.BIZ

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she thrust her door open, and hurried down the alleyway.

      She was nearly knocked off her feet by a man who charged past her. She had time, as she reeled, to recognize the stout captain, clutching papers in both hands, his face convulsed and writhing. Then he was gone, and a chill jet of spray, curling inboard, stung her into self-possession. Everybody else seemed to be on deck. From the companion, her eyes yet futile in the darkness, she perceived heaving groups of them here and there; the wind—it was more wonderful than anything else to find such a wind—whipped their voices past her in shreds of sound. All was tumult and chaos, when suddenly her arm was grasped, and she looked up into the face of the deck passenger.

      "The niggers will be aft in a minute," he said.

      Miss Gregory thrilled. "What has happened?" she cried. "I was asleep."

      "We're aground," he said. "We've bumped on a reef. And the captain and crew have got away in a boat and left us."

      He had the air of a man hurried beyond endurance, yet he did not move as he spoke. Out of the darkness behind him Miss Ducane suddenly emerged, fully dressed, with her damp hair plastered about her head. She ran to the shelter of the companion, breathing gaspingly.

      "Is it the niggers?" she cried. "Is it the niggers?"

      The deck passenger gave her but the one look.

      "Yes," he said. "You run and hide, Polly."

      It was passing strange, in that environment—his cool tone of ironic patronage, her swift, resentful cock of the head.

      "And why ain't you with them?" she asked acidly.

      He had a retort shaped on his lips, when he jumped back.

      "Here they come!" he cried.

      It was as if the darkness precipitated itself into velvet-footed shapes. Of a sudden, the night about them was peopled with black men from forward, negroes naked and showing white teeth in a cold fury of murder. It was for fear of these that the captain had shown that face of emasculate terror—negroes armed with desperation. The deck passenger's shoulder thrust Miss Gregory aside as he squared himself in the doorway. Miss Ducane had already stepped clear. In the flurry of that moment, Miss Gregory had but one clear impression—the long black leg of Miss Ducane as she snatched her skirt up and dragged at her crimson garter. Then she was seemly again, and her slim hand reached forward with a revolver, miraculously materialized, and thrust it into the hand of the deck passenger. At once the noise of it began to make its effect—two shots, a rush, and two more. It was all too like a trick to be imposing, and far too swift in its happening. Miss Gregory had hardly realized it, when the deck passenger was back again. It had only needed proof that the white man still possessed resources of mastery to drive the natives forward.

      "I'll have to leave you," he was saying. "They'll need watching." And he was gone again.

      There was a settee in the companion, and Miss Gregory sat down upon it. She was placid enough outwardly, but inwardly the spate of events had left her a little bewildered. Through her thoughts there penetrated the calm, rather weary voice of Miss Ducane.

      "It makes a bulge, I grant," she was saying; "but it's a handy thing to have about you. I'd as soon go without my shoes—sooner, in fact."

      As the sky grew pale with the foreknowledge of dawn, the sharp wind abated. It had been no more than a heavy squall at its worst, that sudden mood of tempest which the tropics know. In ones and twos the saloon passengers appeared, shivering, from their hiding-places. Nobody had been killed. They gathered to leeward of the companion, restoring themselves with low talk. At the rail which overlooked the fore deck, the deck passenger leaned with folded arms, an efficient sentry. Miss Gregory groped her way to her cabin and completed her toilet; she was her every-day self when she stepped forth to inspect the situation.

      She made sure of the deck passenger first.

      "I suppose we may consider ourselves introduced now?" she suggested, pausing at his side.

      He smiled shortly. "It is for you to say."

      "Well, then," she said, "what is happening?"

      He straightened his back and slipped Miss Ducane's revolver into a pocket of his jacket.

      "Nothing very dreadful," he said. "These Portuguese will go to sea without an Englishman to look after them, and they managed to bump us on as convenient a reef as you could wish to see. Look at it."

      Miss Gregory's eyes followed his pointing finger. The edge of the sun was above the hills; daylight had arrived. They lay on an even keel within three miles of the shore, whence a string of white water ran out to them.

      "That's the reef," he explained. "There's a lot of coral hereabouts. We're jammed hard upon it. And as soon as we struck, the niggers raised a yell, and the captain and his men got away in the first boat they could lay hands on. As likely as not they were swamped in the squall and the lot of them drowned."

      "But what about us?" inquired Miss Gregory.

      "Oh, we're all right," he said easily. "Plenty of boats left, you know. But we mustn't be in too much of a hurry. It's easier to keep those niggers in hand here than it would be ashore."

      They were sleeping under the forecastle-head at that moment, it appeared; a white man with a pistol had been a sight to soothe their fears. Occasionally a smooth black head thrust out to watch their interview, and then withdrew, as if reassured that affairs were still in strong hands.

      "They're the real danger, I suppose?" asked Miss Gregory.

      He shrugged his shoulders. "They're not dangerous when they know their master," he said. "All the same, the revolver came in handy."

      "Yes," agreed Miss Gregory; "if it hadn't been for Miss Ducane——"

      He laughed. "Is that what she calls herself?" he asked. "That kind usually have rather magnificent names."

      "What kind?" asked Miss Gregory.

      He gave her a hard, level look. "Madam." he said, "you look as if you knew the world, and yet you let that woman make a friend of you. Think of any word you like to describe a woman—a woman of your own country—who lives and holds her own on the Coast, and has friends among that crowd of passengers aft here, and carries weapons in her stocking, at that. Any word you like—that's the kind I mean."

      "I see," said Miss Gregory, and sighed. She remembered Miss Ducane's words, "You don't want to have anything to do with him." In the face of social prejudices there is nothing useful to be said; so she was silent. The deck passenger shrugged the subject from him.

      "Well," he said, "we've got to make the best of it. There's a mail-boat behind us, somewhere. She'll take us off when she comes. We've simply got to sit tight and wait for her. She might be along to-morrow."

      "Well, that's not much to worry about," agreed Miss Gregory.

      But, as the day wore on, new factors in the situation presented themselves. The cautious men reassured themselves by comparing data as to the mail-boat's dates from port to port, and, being relieved of anxiety on that head, broke open the little bar for the materials of forgetfulness. Even in their cups, they were not loud; drink seemed to have no power to unlock their caution; but there was, none the less, some quarreling. Lunch was a meal from biscuit-tins and preserve-boxes—and bottles; after it, Miss Gregory betook herself willingly to the deck. The company of her fellow passengers was not pleasant.· To her arrived Miss Ducane.

      "There's one thing about those fellows I don't like," she observed, as she dragged her seat to Miss Gregory's side. "They drink, but it never makes them laugh. Have you noticed that?"

      Miss Gregory had not noticed it, but it was true.

      "They want to be made to toe the line," Miss Ducane complained. "They're on their own—like the niggers last night. Only shooting wouldn't quiet them."

      "What would, then?" inquired Miss Gregory.

      "Oh, anything smart," answered Miss Ducane. "They're not so bad, you know; it's just that being all free

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