The two of them stood abashed, like pickpockets taken in the act, and a man by the girl’s side put in a word.
“Miss Montell,” he drawled. “You shouldn’t interfere with the pastimes of our worthy skipper and mate. Let the good work go on.”
“Shame on you, Mr. Barreau!” she flashed, drawing away from him.
The man paid no heed to her quick retort, but himself leaned a bit forward and spoke directly to the captain.
“Go to it, Captain Speer,” he said indifferently—that is, his manner of speech was well simulated indifference; but I, staring up at him, saw the storm-clouds gathering in his dark eyes. “Go ahead. Beat the boy’s face to a jelly. Kick in a few ribs for good measure. Make a thorough job of it. You see, I know something of the river-boat way. But when you are done with that, Messrs. Speer and Tupper, you shall have some little entertainment at my expense, I promise you.”
There was a menace in the inflection.
“By the Lord, sir, I’m master on this vessel,” Captain Speer at length found his tongue. “If you don’t like this, come down and take a hand.”
“Now speaks the doughty mariner,” Barreau laughed mockingly. “I shall take a hand without troubling to come down, believe me. Colonel Colt shall arbitrate for us. If that is to your liking I am at your service, Captain Speer.”
“Another cowardly blow,” cried the girl, her dainty face flushing, “and my father shall see that you captain no more boats for the Benton and St. Louis Company—you barbarian. I promise you that for penalty, whatever Mr. Barreau sees fit to do.”
Whether the threat against his position carried weight, or if he simply had no hankering for an encountering with the cool individual on the upper deck, I do not know; but, at any rate, Captain Speer saw fit to sheath his claws at this juncture.