Darkness spread swiftly across the lagoon and a white fog, hot and damp as steam, rose from the forest and hung about the ship.  Everything was very quiet, for the men were too limp to talk, but a murmur came out of the distance where the long swell beat upon the shoals.  Kit and Mayne sat in the chart-room, with a jug of iced liquor on the table in front.  Sometimes they spoke a few words and sometimes smoked in silence, while Adam lay on the settee, saying nothing.  At length, he got up and a steward helped him to his room.  Somehow the others felt it a relief that he had gone.

“I can hustle, but your uncle makes me tired,” Mayne remarked.  “If you get what I mean, it’s like watching a dead man chase the boys about; you feel it’s unnatural to see him on his feet.  Well, one has to pay for fooling with a climate like this, and I’m afraid the bill he’ll get will break him.  Can’t you make him quit?”

“I can’t; I’ve tried.”

“The curious thing is he knows the cost,” Mayne resumed.  “Knows what’s coming to him unless he goes.”

“Yes,” said Kit in a thoughtful voice, “I believe he does know and doesn’t mind.  This makes it rough on me.  I’m powerless to send him off and I’m fond of the old man.”

Mayne made a sign of agreement.  “He’s a pretty tough proposition and was worse when he was young; but I’ve risked my life to serve him.  The Buccaneer holds his friends.”

Kit said nothing.  He was anxious and depressed and soon went off to bed.

When work began next morning, Adam was on deck and superintended the landing of the cargo in spite of Kit’s protest.  Kit thought the day was hotter than the last, and after an hour or two’s disturbed sleep in his stifling room, found it hard to drag himself about.  When the exhausted peons stopped at noon, he lay under the awning and kept close to Adam when they resumed.  He did not like his uncle’s fixed frown and thought it was caused by the effort he made to keep at work.  If not, it was a hint of pain he stubbornly tried to overcome.  Besides, his step was dragging and his movements were awkward.

About the middle of the afternoon, Adam stood near the noisy winch while a case was hoisted.  The winch-man looked up when the heavy load, hanging from the derrick, swung across the slanted deck.

“Hold her while they steady the boom!” Adam shouted and seized the rope that slipped round the drum.

The winch-driver was watching the others who struggled with the guy, and perhaps forgot it was not a strong man who had come to his help.  For a moment or two, Adam kept his grip, and then his hands opened and he staggered back.  Somebody shouted, a pulley rattled, and the case, running down, crashed against the steamer’s rail.  Kit ran forward, but reached the spot a moment too late, for Adam lay unconscious on the iron deck.

They picked him up and carried him to the bridge, where it was a little cooler than his room, but for some time he did not open his eyes.  Then he looked about dully and seeing Kit gave him a feeble smile.