The captain and his mates stared in amazement at the firm jaw and calm eyes of the red-headed boy. The captain swore loudly.
“You’d lick me if—if I wasn’t an old man!” he yelled with rage.
“You bet I would! But I’d be ashamed to hit an old man who is so wicked that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I wish you were younger and I’d make you make good on that grandstand threat!”
The captain was not troubled with his heart, but it certainly looked as though he was. He seemed to be on the point of hitting the boy, but at last, muttering between his teeth, he walked into the cabin. The two mates gazed after him in speechless wonder. Terry walked quietly down into the galley and the cook followed him, dazed.
“You stood up to him!” the cook exulted, over and over again. “By gosh!” Suddenly he smote Terry on the back. “Sonny, I’m with you! Let’s get off this old scow.”
They put their heads together and for the next half hour they made plans. At length, lighting his pipe and trembling with excitement, the cook went on deck and looked all around. The captain and Maxwell were nowhere in sight and Todd sat at the tiller, idly gazing at the shore. Jed Dale looked up and down the river and then returned to the galley.
“The sand bar I told you about is just two hundred yards ahead,” he whispered.
“Good!” nodded Terry. “Are you all ready?”
“Yes,” replied the cook, nervously wiping his hands on his coat.
“Then let’s get going,” said Terry, pulling his belt tighter.