As I did so, George reared his head for'ard-- "Morning, George," I said; "I guess we've got to run on gasolene to-day.
No wind in sight--so far as I can see." "That's right, sar," said George, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Presently, he came to me in his big hulking way, and said: "There ain't no gasolene, sir--" "No gasolene ?" I exclaimed.
"It's run out in the night." "The tanks were filled when we started, weren't they ?" I asked.
"Yes, sir." "We can't have used them up so soon...." "No sir,--but some one has turned the cocks...." I stood dazed for a moment, wondering how this could have happened,--then a thought slowly dawned upon me.
"Who has charge of them ?" I said.
George looked a little stupid, then defiant.
"I see," I said; and, suddenly, without remembering Charlie Webster's advice not to lose your temper with a negro--I realised that this was no accident, but a deliberate trick, something indeed in the nature of a miniature mutiny.

That fluttering paper I had picked from the halyard lay near my breakfast table.

I had only half read it.

Now its import came to me with full force.

I had no firearms with me.