He sprang at the aged doctor, caught him by the throat and shook him as a terrier does a rat.
“You confounded rogue!” he bellowed. “What do you mean by double-crossing me? I told you if you let that greasy Eskimo die, it would be your last act on earth! Say your prayers, you—you—”
The unfortunate doctor was struggling against the huge hairy hands that were locked like an iron band about his throat, but his face was purple and his eyes bulged from his head.
The boys started forward, but at that moment the first and second mates, hearing the captain’s bellow of rage, had come running, and now they leaped upon him, forcing his hands loose of their hold upon Dr. Campbell.
In his rage he would have turned upon them, but they were both strong men and they held on grimly till he abandoned his struggles.
“You’re mad, Captain,” said the mate. “Let up.”
“I’ll fix him!” bellowed the captain, making another lunge at the unfortunate doctor, who was feeling gingerly of his injured throat. “Let me at him! Let me—”
But at this point, seeing that the two mates were amply able to handle the enraged captain and thinking that it was about time they left the scene, the boys crept away unnoticed.
Most of the men having run to see what was going on, the boys found themselves temporarily alone.
“Gee,” said Fred, his face a mixture of emotions. “Well, it’s all over with poor old Takyak.”