Instead, he looked to his hunter for orders.

The hunter, in turn, was in a quandary.

His rifle was between his knees, but if he let go the steering-oar in order to shoot, the boat would sweep around and collide with the schooner.

Also he saw Wolf Larsen's rifle bearing upon him and knew he would be shot ere he could get his rifle into play.
"Take a turn," he said quietly to the man.
The boat-puller obeyed, taking a turn around the little forward thwart and paying the line as it jerked taut.

The boat sheered out with a rush, and the hunter steadied it to a parallel course some twenty feet from the side of the _Ghost_.
"Now, get that sail down and come alongside!" Wolf Larsen ordered.
He never let go his rifle, even passing down the tackles with one hand.
When they were fast, bow and stern, and the two uninjured men prepared to come aboard, the hunter picked up his rifle as if to place it in a secure position.
"Drop it!" Wolf Larsen cried, and the hunter dropped it as though it were hot and had burned him.
Once aboard, the two prisoners hoisted in the boat and under Wolf Larsen's direction carried the wounded boat-steerer down into the forecastle.
"If our five boats do as well as you and I have done, we'll have a pretty full crew," Wolf Larsen said to me.
"The man you shot--he is--I hope ?" Maud Brewster quavered.
"In the shoulder," he answered.