For by
some sixth sailor sense Neils Halvorsen became convinced that his
old friends of the vegetable trade were marooned. They had gone
ashore for some kind of a frolic, and the crew had stolen the
schooner and left them to their fate, believing that the
castaways would never be heard from and that dead men tell no
tales.
"Yumpin' yiminy," groaned Neils. "I must get a wiggle on if aye
bane steal this schooner."
He rushed on deck, carried his prisoner down into the cabin, and
locked the door on him. A minute later he was clinging to the
Jacob's ladder, the canoe shot in to the side of the vessel at
his gruff command and passed on shoreward without missing a
stroke of the paddle. An hour later, accompanied by three Kanaka
sailors picked up at random along the waterfront, Neils Halvorsen
was pulled out to the _Maggie II_. Her crew had not returned and
the bogus captain was still triced hard and fast in the cabin.
The Swede did not bother to investigate in detail the food and
water supply. A hasty round of the schooner convinced him that
she had at least a month's supply of food and water. Only one
thought surged through his mind, and that was the awful necessity
for haste.
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