"He better not go argufyin' with Shanghai Tom."
"Why not? What could the cook do?"
"Do?" Doc looked up and rolled his eyes, listened a second to make sure the cook was busy in the galley, and then went on: "Do? He'd let a meat axe in him. Yo' jes' want to stand clear if yo' see Mr. Peth an' Tom lookin' crossways at each other. My goodness, Mr. Trask, yo' sho' got a powerful lot of stuff in this grip-sack!"
"Yes, it's tightly packed. Take the stuff out and put it in the upper bunk. I'll use the lower. So Peth and Jarrow fight. Do you mean to tell me there's always fighting? That it amounts to anything more than arguments?"
"Fight! Lord-amighty! Them two! They'd rather fight en a yaller dawg likes fo' to worry a hambone. Not out an' out strakin', but jes' kind o' pickin' en a pickin'; insultin' like. But Mr. Peth he's makin' to do somebody hurt some time."
"Let 'em fight," said Trask, and he began to help Doc hand out the clothing from the bag which the steward stowed above. When the bag was partly empty Trask opened a leather pocket that was fitted to one of the compartments. He gave an exclamation of surprise as he found it empty. It was in this pocket that his automatic revolver was ordinarily carried.
"What's the matter?" asked Doc.
"Oh, nothing. I've misplaced something, that's all."
"Yo' don' reckon Mr. Locke'll go an' git skeered 'count o' Mr. Peth's carryin' on, does ye?"
"I don't believe anybody in this party is very scared of Mr. Peth."