"His name was Jacobs, wasn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"I heard that scuffle, and I've been wondering about it. So the ship won't do anything about it, according to the mate?"
"No, sir."
"Then I know who will," asserted the man—a quick, erect, middle-aged man with grayish moustache and goatee. He wore miner's costume, but he looked like a gentleman, nevertheless. "Wait a bit."
He, too, left. Gazing after him as he passed along the deck under the awning, they noted him pause and speak with several other men, who glanced back at the stern as if he was telling them about the boat. A little group of them accompanied him, and disappeared with him.
Soon they all came up on deck again, and with them was Mr. Jacobs himself. Charley thought that he looked rather frightened, as in their midst he moved aft. The group was swelled, en route, until when they halted before the Adams party they numbered about twenty—a sober, stern lot, standing in a determined manner with Mr. Jacobs pushed to the fore.
The man with the goatee acted as spokesman.
"This is the man, is it?" he asked, of Mr. Grigsby.
"I wouldn't call him a man," said Mr. Grigsby, contemptuously. "But he's the critter I referred to."