Preparations

They looked long and steadfastly at the retreating boat. Soon it
diminished to a mere speck on the smooth sea. The even breeze kept its
canvas taut, and the sailor knew that no ruse was intended--the Dyaks
were flying from the island in fear and rage. They would return with a
force sufficient to insure the wreaking of their vengeance.

That he would again encounter them at no distant date Jenks had no
doubt whatever. They would land in such numbers as to render any
resistance difficult and a prolonged defence impossible. Would help
come first?--a distracting question to which definite answer could not
be given.

The sailor's brow frowned in deep lines; his brain throbbed
now with an anxiety singularly at variance with his cool demeanor
during the fight. He was utterly unconscious that his left arm
encircled the shoulder of the girl until she gently disengaged herself
and said appealingly--

"Please, Mr. Jenks, do not be angry with me. I could not help it. I
could not bear to see you shoot them."

Then he abruptly awoke to the realities of the moment.

"Come." he said, his drawn features relaxing into a wonderfully
pleasing smile. "We will return to our castle. We are safe for the
remainder of this day, at any rate."

Something must be said or done to reassure her. She was still
grievously disturbed, and he naturally ascribed her agitation to the
horror of her capture. He dreaded a complete collapse if any further
alarms threatened at once. Yet he was almost positive--though search
alone would set at rest the last misgiving--that only one sampan had
visited the island.