“Captain Brack is intoxicated, Miss Baldwin,” I said. “The doctor and
I do not think it would be pleasant for you to be here when he
returns.”
“No,” said the doctor, “you mustn’t be here then, Miss Baldwin.”
Betty’s wide-open eyes grew wider, but there was no alarm in the quiet
gray depths of them.
“I understand,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “I will do whatever
you suggest, Mr. Pitt.”
There lay the trouble. I had nothing to suggest, nor had the doctor.
Flight suggested itself first of all, but in that wilderness, with
only a light Peterboro canoe and a rough sea as means of escape, the
success of such a move seemed improbable. To bring our fate to a
crisis by remaining there openly, defying Brack and appealing to the
men for help, would have been suicidal. Had we been on the yacht
strengthened by Pierce and Wilson, such action might have had a basis
of reason.
Really thoughts of Pierce and Wilson kept me from losing hope at that
moment. Though by now I had more confidence in myself than I had
thought possible, I did not feel that I was capable of finding a
solution to the problem confronting us. But there were Pierce, the
shrewd, and Wilson, the brave, still to reckon with. What were they
thinking at that moment of our failure to return to the yacht? What
would Pierce’s sharp mind be doing but seeking a way to assist us, or,
at least Miss Baldwin, to safety?
And then I looked at Betty, quietly serious, but not alarmed, and my
spirits rose at the sight of her. It was no strength of mine that
raised my courage then; it was the strength I drew from the courage of
Betty. Once more, as in the canoe, I felt a desire to cry out:
“Bravo, Betty! Bravo, brave girl! We’ll beat him yet.”
It was well that I did not cry out. For in that instant, from out on
the back trail, came a maddened bellow, scarcely human in tone, yet
recognizable as coming from no one else than Captain Brack.