But the battle the boys expected never took place. No sooner did the mutineers recognize the police officers than all ideas of resistance were cast aside. Clambering on to the rail a man waved a white rag frantically in token of surrender. An instant later the kayaks were alongside, and Sergeant Manley and Campbell leaped over the bulwarks.
Cowed, with all the braggadocio gone from them, the Ruby’s crew backed away and stood muttering together near the foremast.
“Where’s the captain and mate?” snapped out the Sergeant, keeping the men covered with his weapon.
“Aft, in the cabin,” replied one of the men.
“Search that crowd, Campbell!” ordered the Sergeant, “and hold ’em.”
A minute later he reappeared accompanied by the skipper and his chief officer.
“Those are the ringleaders,” declared the captain, pointing to a big, bull-necked, low-browed fellow and a weasel-faced, shifty-eyed creature. “They started the trouble. Jones there’s the one killed the bo’sun.”
“That’s a lie!” roared the heavy man. “S’help me——”
“Silence!” roared Sergeant Manley. “Here, Campbell——”
With a quick motion, the bull-necked fellow whipped out a revolver. There was a sharp report and the mutineer plunged forward upon the deck and his gun clattered upon the planking. Campbell nonchalantly threw out the empty shell and snapped another into his carbine.