voice, but he knew that he might serve her best by waiting until the friendly black returned with information as to her whereabouts. If Peter Pan could find out nothing it was probable that she had got away. If she were in the hands of the savages Keith felt that he could at least reach her side. There were two bullets still in his revolver. He had reserved them. It was better she should die that way.
The minutes dragged along like hours. Once there was a movement within a few feet of where Keith stood. He gripped his knife. Two or three men were there, chattering excitedly, but they did not discover the sailor, and moved off. Keith's nerves were of iron, but the strain was beginning to tell on him. He felt an almost irresistible impulse to rush forward and stab savagely at every form he encountered in his path.
"Marster Keith!" It was Peter Pan calling softly, ten feet away.
Keith answered with a hissing sound.
"Miss Joan she gone!" the black announced.
"Gone! Gone where?"
"Niggers all come along big Marster Moniz in schooner. Marster Trent he no here. Maybe he dead. Miss Joan she go along big Marster Moniz to schooner."
