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Van Weyden," was Wolf Larsen's command. As we drew nearer, the firing ceased, and we saw that the fight was over. The remaining two boats had been captured by our five, and the seven were grouped together, waiting to be picked up. "Look at that!" I cried involuntarily, pointing to the north-east. The blot of smoke which indicated the Macedonia's position had reappeared.
The worst appeared inevitable; and as I paced the deck, hour after hour, I found myself afflicted with Wolf Larsen's repulsive ideas. What was it all about? Where was the grandeur of life that it should permit such wanton destruction of human souls? It was a cheap and sordid thing after all, this life, and the sooner over the better. Over and done with!
"Watching the road. He's one of Dene's scouts." "Will Dene " One of Naab's sons came trotting back. "Think that was Larsen's pal. He was laying in wait for Snap." "I thought he was a scout for Dene," replied August. "Maybe he's that too." "Likely enough. Hurry along and keep the gray team going lively. They've had a week's rest."
There was no warmth, no sign of fire. Yet that smoke which blinded me and made me cough and gasp must have a source. I lost my head temporarily and dashed frantically about the steerage. A collision with the table partially knocked the wind from my body and brought me to myself. I reasoned that a helpless man could start a fire only near to where he lay. I returned to Wolf Larsen's bunk.
No specification is made as to the size of the shotgun to be used. Usually, however, small-gauge guns are carried. The one in Larsen's hands was a twelve gauge, and consequently large. All morning he had been using it over his own dog. Nobody had paid any attention to it, because he shot smokeless powder.
Still we increased our lead, and when the boat had dropped astern several miles we hove to and waited. All eyes watched it coming, even Wolf Larsen's; but he was the only unperturbed man aboard. Louis, gazing fixedly, betrayed a trouble in his face he was not quite able to hide.
The fisherman started guiltily as he saw him, and Boyd questioned him sharply. "What are you doing here, Larsen?" "I just walked up after supper to have a talk with an old mate." "Who is he?" Boyd glanced suspiciously at Larsen's companion. "He's Mr. Marsh's foreman." "Emerson spoke out bluntly: "See here. I don't like this.
The hunters, on the other hand, had stronger and more diversified faces, with hard lines and the marks of the free play of passions. Strange to say, and I noted it all once, Wolf Larsen's features showed no such evil stamp. There seemed nothing vicious in them. True, there were lines, but they were the lines of decision and firmness.
When they were fast, bow and stern, and the two uninjured men prepared to come aboard, the hunter picked up his rifle as if to place it in a secure position. "Drop it!" Wolf Larsen cried, and the hunter dropped it as though it were hot and had burned him. Once aboard, the two prisoners hoisted in the boat and under Wolf Larsen's direction carried the wounded boat-steerer down into the forecastle.
It was very natural that it should be there, how natural I had not imagined until now, when I looked upon it with her eyes and knew how strange it and all that went with it must appear to her. But she divined the mockery in Wolf Larsen's words, and again favoured me with a sympathetic glance. But there was a look of bewilderment also in her eyes.
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