“They are,” said Wallingford. “And none of them would accept his hints. But he didn’t stop there. There is a Canadian master’s mate on board, a hulking, savage sort of fellow. Simpson has been talking to him; so you’d better look out unless you want to complain to the skipper.” “I’ll not do that,” answered Ethan determinedly. “I’ve always fought my own battles, and mean to continue to do so.” “I think he--Simpson, I mean--judged you to be one of that kind, and he’s just mean enough to take advantage of it.” Ethan told Shamus of this that same evening as they paced the deck together. “The master’s mate, is it?” said the dragoon. “Well, I’ve noticed that same fellow to-day as he kicked and swore at the small lads and mild looking men in the crew. He’s a stout lump of a fellow wid a wicked look, so if there is to be ructions wid him, Master Ethan, leave him to me, and I’ll engage not to leave a whole bone in his body, so I will.” Ethan laughed at his companion’s enthusiasm, but replied, “I’d very much prefer it were Simpson himself, if it comes to a fight; but of course that is out of the question on board; it would not do for the first officer upon an American sloop-of-war to engage in a fracas with a passenger; Captain Jones would not permit it.” As they were, shortly afterward, about to go below for the night, Shamus laid his hand upon Ethan’s arm. “Master Ethan,” said he, “I’m going to tell ye something that will surprise ye.” Ethan looked into the grim, scarred face of Longsword and was astonished to see that it was anxious and troubled looking. “What is it?” he asked. “In the second dog-watch I came on deck,” said the Irishman, “and the first person me two eyes fell upon as I took me foot from the top step of the ladder was--guess?” “I can’t.” “It was the brown man that listened at the window.” “Impossible!” “That’s what I should have said meself, jewel, if I hadn’t seen him as plain as day. And he had the crooked knife in his belt that I imagined him wid the other night on the Island Queen.” “Are you quite positive it was the same man?” “I’m as sure of it as I am that I am talking wid ye at this minute.” “But what is he doing on the Ranger?” “Sure he’s a sailor, so he is; the bos’en told me that he shipped on the day we sailed.” Next day Ethan questioned Wallingford. “A brown fellow, eh?” mused the ship’s third officer. “Let me see! Oh, yes, I remember. He’s a Lascar, I think, and gave the name of Siki. I signed him and the master’s mate whom I told you about yesterday. They seem to be great cronies. Always to be found in odd corners, whispering away like all possessed.” Ethan waited until he saw the Lascar with his own eyes before he was satisfied. Then he went to Captain Jones, and told him all that he knew about the man. “So you think that this fellow, Siki, as he calls himself, had something to do with the attack upon the schooner in Delaware Bay?” said the commander sternly.