The party had been gone some six hours when I slipped over the side into
the dory. Newmarch was below, and only one of the crew was on deck. I
seized the oars and struck out for the shore, but I had hardly covered
twenty paces when the captain rushed to the rail, took one glance at me,
and then dashed toward the companion-stairs.
I sensed the motive in that mad dash for the cabin, and I pulled madly.
Thoughts of Edith Herndon thronged my brain, and I drove the dory toward
the promontory with every ounce of strength I possessed. To return to
the yacht while she was in the eerie jungle-growth under Leith's
protection would be worse than death, and I didn't pause for an instant
when the captain's squeaky voice hailed me.
"Come back at once!" he shouted. "Are you coming?"
I bent my back to the oars and pulled with every muscle strained. The
perspiration half blinded me, but one glance upward convinced me that I
had sensed the captain's motive when I saw him rush from the side. He
was standing on the poop, taking deliberate aim at me with a Winchester
rifle that he had taken from the rack in his own cabin.
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