“Cap’n Pawl—please.”
He had time to mark, even then, that her voice was level and unafraid.
As she spoke, Red Pawl turned his head, and over his shoulder beheld his father. He loosed the girl, and turned, half crouching. He moved forward two steps, to the cabin table, and rested his great hands on it, and gazed at Black Pawl eye to eye.
That instant the flood of passion in the Captain’s heart burst its bounds. He leaped forward with the swift and silent ferocity of a beast; and at sight of his convulsed face, the girl shuddered. But she held her ground in the corner, watching. The cabin was so small that there was no room for any maneuvering; the table in the center left only narrow ways about the sides. It was like witnessing the battle of two lions in a pit.
Black Pawl, in his charge, seemed not to see the table. He struck it with his thighs; and stout as it was, and secure as it was in its place upon the floor, it was wrenched loose and flung against Red Pawl, bearing him back; and for an instant he was pinned against the wall, the table against his legs, his father’s huge knotted fists lashing at him.
Since Red was a child, Black Pawl had never struck him in anger. And now, at those first blows, the son was whipped to a fury as fierce as that of Black Pawl. He ducked, bent his back, and thrust the table from his knees; he came on Black Pawl then, from the side, head down. He got his arms about the other’s middle; their two bodies crashed down upon the table, smashing it to splinters.
The sudden tumult in the cabin had brought the missionary and Dan Darrin, running. Pinned in his son’s arms, Black Pawl saw them, and he called in stern, sure tones:
“Dan, on deck! Take the ship. Father, stand away. I’ve a lesson to teach here.”
Dan obeyed instantly; the missionary paused by the companion, watching. Tighter Red Pawl’s arms wound about his father, as though he would crush the older man.
Red was the stronger. He was built broad, built thick, built solid upon the ground, whereas Black Pawl was lean and long. Nevertheless, Black Pawl had more of the lore of rough and tumble; and through the years his strength had ripened, not decayed. Held down now by the heavier man, crushed in that viselike grip, he cooled to a deadly ferocity; then worked his long arm up for a blow that, when it fell, rocked Red’s head upon his shoulders. For an instant only the other’s muscles slacked, but the instant was enough to let Black Pawl get his elbow beneath the other’s throat, and thrust up and away. Red was finally forced to yield, for if he had not, his head must have been torn from his shoulders. He writhed back, shifting to obtain a fresh hold, and Black Pawl squirmed to one side, and to his feet, and so was free. He stepped back, breathing deep into his strangled lungs; instantly Red sprang to his feet, lowered his head and charged.