This time, it was a woman who decided.
Iris rose to her feet. She brushed back the strands of damp hair from
her face, and with deft hands made a rough-and-ready coil of her
abundant tresses.
"Are you planning to send me with two others adrift in a boat, while
seventeen men are left here?" she asked.
The Brazilian ceased speaking. There was another uneasy pause. Hozier
felt that the question was addressed to him, but he was tongue-tied,
almost shame-faced. Coke, however, did not shirk the task of
enlightening her.
"Something like that," he said. "We can't let you cut in with the rest
of us, missy. That wouldn't be reasonable. But it's best to fix the
business fair an' square. We ain't agoin' to try any other way, not so
long as _I'm_ skipper," and he looked with brutal frankness at De Sylva
and the anxious but uncomprehending San Benavides.
The ex-President knew what he meant; even in his despondency he
resented the implied slur on his good faith.
"You cannot examine the boat until darkness sets in," he said. "Then
you will find out how frail a foundation you are building on. It is
absolutely ridiculous to assume that she can be made seaworthy. Her
occupants would be drowned before they were clear of the islands."
"In any case, I refuse to go," said Iris.
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