In one thing only could Kwaque rule Michael.  Kwaque possessed a jews’ harp, and, whenever the world of the Makambo and the servitude to the steward grew wearisome, he could transport himself to King William Island by thrusting the primitive instrument between his jaws and fanning weird rhythms from it with his hand, and when he thus crossed space and time, Michael sang—­or howled, rather, though his howl possessed the same soft mellowness as Jerry’s.  Michael did not want to howl, but the chemistry of his being was such that he reacted to music as compulsively as elements react on one another in the laboratory.

While he lay perdu in Steward’s stateroom, his voice was the one thing that was not to be heard, so Kwaque was forced to seek the solace of his jews’ harp in the sweltering heat of the gratings over the fire-room.  But this did not continue long, for, either according to blind chance, or to the lines of fate written in the book of life ere ever the foundations of the world were laid, Michael was scheduled for an adventure that was profoundly to affect, not alone his own destiny, but the destinies of Kwaque and Dag Daughtry and determine the very place of their death and burial.

CHAPTER VI

The adventure that was so to alter the future occurred when Michael, in no uncertain manner, announced to all and sundry his presence on the Makambo.  It was due to Kwaque’s carelessness, to commence with, for Kwaque left the stateroom without tight-closing the door.  As the Makambo rolled on an easy sea the door swung back and forth, remaining wide open for intervals and banging shut but not banging hard enough to latch itself.

Michael crossed the high threshold with the innocent intention of exploring no farther than the immediate vicinity.  But scarcely was he through, when a heavier roll slammed the door and latched it.  And immediately Michael wanted to get back.  Obedience was strong in him, for it was his heart’s desire to serve his lord’s will, and from the few days’ confinement he sensed, or guessed, or divined, without thinking about it, that it was Steward’s will for him to stay in the stateroom.

For a long time he sat down before the closed door, regarding it wistfully but being too wise to bark or speak to such inanimate object.  It had been part of his early puppyhood education to learn that only live things could be moved by plea or threat, and that while things not alive did move, as the door had moved, they never moved of themselves, and were deaf to anything life might have to say to them.  Occasionally he trotted down the short cross-hall upon which the stateroom opened, and gazed up and down the long hall that ran fore and aft.

For the better part of an hour he did this, returning always to the door that would not open.  Then he achieved a definite idea.  Since the door would not open, and since Steward and Kwaque did not return, he would go in search of them.  Once with this concept of action clear in his brain, without timidities of hesitation and irresolution, he trotted aft down the long hall.  Going around the right angle in which it ended, he encountered a narrow flight of steps.  Among many scents, he recognized those of Kwaque and Steward and knew they had passed that way.