Terry’s jaw dropped, and he turned ashy in hue as he shrank away.
“Look here, sir,” continued Syd, “you will no longer have charge of that gun, but act under Mr Roylance’s orders when I am not there. Fight like a man, and do your duty, and I may forget to report your conduct to the captain. Go on as you are behaving now, and everything shall be known.”
A curiously vindictive look shot from Terry’s eyes as his hand involuntarily played with the butt of the pistol he had in his belt.
Syd saw it, and continued—
“Another such threat as that, sir, and you will be disarmed.”
Terry walked away and stood aside, gazing out to sea, while Syd could not help thinking that if his messmate had a favourable opportunity and could do it unseen, he would not scruple to use his pistol, or to push him over the steep cliff.
The thoughts were dismissed directly and forgotten in the busy toil, the men rigging up the tackle, dismounting the gun, and packing it once more in one of the water-casks, ready for rolling down to the new platform, which was slowly progressing, but not yet ready for its reception. So the one party was piped to refreshments, after which, the place being declared sufficiently advanced, the second party took the place of the first for rest and food, while with a cheer the gun-carriage was dragged below, then the tackle was rigged over it, and the gun rolled down, hauled into its place, and by the time darkness had quite set in, the fresh one-gun battery was in working order.
“Where’s Terry?” said Syd, about this time.
“Sulking,” said Roylance, laughing. “What did you say to him? You are getting an awfully great fellow, Belton, to calm him down like that. I say, how old are you?”
“Nearly seventeen. Why?”