“He’s killed me,” said Black Pawl again. And Red nodded.
“I don’t—mind dying.” Black Pawl whispered. “But Red, I—hate to be—stuck—like a pig.”
Red Pawl looked at Spiess, and back at his father again. “Aye, like a pig,” he said. There was no softness in his tone, nor any relenting.
Black Pawl looked toward Spiess. “Shoot him down for me to see, Red,” he murmured.
Red shook his head at that “No. There’s been enough quick death. I’ll see to him, in due time—no fear.”
“Shoot him,” Black Pawl begged.
Red shook his head. The Captain lifted a weak hand. “Then—Red—get me my gun. In my cabin. I’ll shoot him. Do that much for me.”
The mate considered; then he said: “No. He’d finish you while I was below.”
Black Pawl’s head drooped. “Aye,” he agreed. “He’d finish me.” He was thoughtful, silent for a little. Red saw his shoulders heaving with the hardly won breath. Then the Captain looked wearily up at him.
“Give me your gun, Red,” he whispered, “—if you’ll not get mine.”