The water-breakers and grub-boxes from all the other boats were likewise missing, as were the beds and sea bags of the two men.

Wolf Larsen was furious.

He set sail and bore away into the west-north-west, two hunters constantly at the mastheads and sweeping the sea with glasses, himself pacing the deck like an angry lion.

He knew too well my sympathy for the runaways to send me aloft as look-out.
The wind was fair but fitful, and it was like looking for a needle in a haystack to raise that tiny boat out of the blue immensity.

But he put the _Ghost_ through her best paces so as to get between the deserters and the land.