Instinctively, when once their feet were on the warm gray planks, each man, black and white, handled his weapon ready to fight or argue as might be demanded of him; but no one appeared to seek explanation of their presence; and from staring about them, they took to staring at one another rather foolishly. If one has been expecting a brisk game of murder, and one meets with empty silence, it rather spoils the sequence of ideas. “Come to think of it,” said Hank in an oppressive whisper, “if there’d been an anchor watch, they’d have hailed us before we got this far. I bet the Old Man’s asleep in the chart-house. ’Twouldn’t be a bad idea to bottle him.” He pattered across the deck, right hand inside his shirt bosom, pistol gripped in that, and peered in through the open door. The place was tenanted by no living thing larger than flies and cockroaches. He drew back half scared by the eeriness of it, and then beckoning his mates, headed them down the companion ladder, treading like a stage conspirator. At the foot, two doors opened, one into the alley-way which was empty, the other into the main cabin, on the floor of which Kettle had been deposited by the donkeyman. But in the culminating spasm of his cramp, the little captain had rolled away out of sight under the table, and so to all appearance this place was deserted also. The men peered about them, and ran aft, poking their noses in pantry and galley and engine-room. Coming back through the alley-way they searched the two mates’ rooms, and found them empty; and going out on the iron fore-deck, found the forecastle deserted also. Then they gathered round that gaping rent where the fore-hatch had been, in curious wonder, examining the crumpled plates which were yellow with new rust, and pointing out to one another the twisted stanchions and splintered _débris_ below. And at this they were engaged when the sun took its final dive beneath the waters of the Mexican gulf to westward, and the tropical darkness snapped down upon them like the shutting of a box. “Hank,” said the one-eyed man, “this gets me. What in snakes have they been doin’ to this blame’ steamboat, and for why have they gug-gug-gone off and left her?” “Euclid’s out of my line,” said Hank, oracularly. “Oh you blank puttyhead,” retorted his friend, “th-th-ink!” “You tire me. If they aren’t here they aren’t. P’r’aps they’ve gone off and toted the boodle to a _cache_. P’r’aps it’s left right here aboard, and if it is I guess we shall find it when we want it. What I’m on for now’s grub. I hain’t had a Christian meal for three months, thanks to this new sheriff bustling after us, and I’m about sick of mullet and sweet potatoes. But, please our luck, we’ll raid their store-rooms here and fix up a regular hotel supper for to-night. That’s me. Now, come along, fellers.”