The others looked at him inquiringly.
"About as healthful as prussic acid, those volcanic gases," explained the surgeon.
The ship edged on and inward. Presently the sing-song of the leadsman sounded in measured distinctness through the silence. Then a sudden activity and bustle forward, the rattle of chains, and the Wolverine was at anchor. The captain came down from the bridge.
"What do you think, Dr. Trendon?" he asked.
More explicit inquiry was not necessary.
The surgeon understood what was in his superior's mind.
"Never can tell about volcanoes, sir," he said.
"Of course," agreed the captain. "But—well, do you recognise any of the symptoms?"
"Want me to diagnose a case of earthquake, sir?" grinned Trendon. "She might go off to-day, or she might behave herself for a century."
"Well, it's all chance," said the other, cheerfully. "The man might be alive. At any rate we must do our best on that theory. What do you make of that cloud on the peak?"
"Poisonous vapours, I suppose. Thought we'd have a chance to make sure just now. Seemed to be coming right for us. Wind's shifted it since."
"There couldn't be anything alive up there?"
"Not so much as a bug," replied the doctor positively.
"Yet I thought when the vapour lifted a bit that I saw something moving."
"When was that, sir?"
