They had just hoisted up the main upper-topsail ready for bending. Barker took his post at the bunt, Jack going out to the weather earing, with Broncho next to him, and Pedro inside next to Barker; whilst Ben and Sam went out on to the lee yardarm, where they were in a short time joined by Curly, who had been waiting below to let go the spilling-lines.
The head of the sail was spread out along the yard, the earings passed, and they were all busy making it fast to the jackstay.
Suddenly Barker, who had been watching for an opportunity to raise trouble, noticed that Pedro had skipped a roving.
"Yew mongrel skunk——" he began, raising his fist to strike the dago; but the sentence was never finished and the blow never fell, for the hot southern blood, raised to boiling-point by long-pent-up passion, burst beyond Pedro's control.
With one flashing movement and a yell of fury, he plunged his knife up to the hilt in the mate's breast.
With a deep groan, Barker fell back against the mast, bleeding profusely.
Ben, catching the stricken man in his arms, vainly tried to staunch the wound; but it was all up with the second mate, who was too far gone even for speech.
As Ben held him there was a gurgle in his throat, and a stream of bright lung blood poured from his mouth.
"You've been an' gone an' done it this time," said the ex-miner to Pedro.