In Which I Rescue the Cook

"What's that?" said Peterson sharply--"you didn't obey orders?"

"Well, I thought he was in the other boat," explained Willy, hanging
his head.

"You'll get your time," said the old man quietly, "soon as we get to
the railroad--and you'll go home by rail."

"What are you trying to do, Mr. Harry?" he demanded of me, a moment
later. I was looking at the long boat.

"Well, he's part of the boat's company," said I, "and we've got to
save him, Peterson."

"What's that?" asked Helena now coming up--and then, "Why, John, our
cook, isn't here, is he?" She, too, looked at the long boat and at the
sea. "How horrible!" she said. "Horrible!"

"What does he mean to do?" she demanded now of Peterson in turn. The
old man only looked at her.

"Surely, you don't mean to go out there again," she said.

I turned to them both, half cold with anger. "Do you think I'd leave
him out there to die, perhaps? It was my own fault, not to see him in
the boat."

"It wasn't," reiterated Peterson. "It was Willy's fault--or mine."

"In either case it's likely to be equally serious for him. We can't
leave the poor devil helpless, that way."

"Mr. Harry," began Peterson again, "he's only a Chinaman."

"Take shame to yourself for that, Peterson," said I. "He's a part of
the boat's company--a good cook--yes, but more than a good cook----"

"Well, why didn't he come up with the rest of us?"