“Not I,” he said. “I’m Folwell’s man. But when ye point a revolver at me an’ order me to get up an’ navigate the ould tub, what can I do?”
“Right,” said Frank gravely, although his eyes were dancing and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Well, captain, will you please navigate?”
“Sure,” said Murphy. “Follow me.”
As they started out of the salon and up the companionway stairs, Bob pressed a revolver into Frank’s hand.
“Take this,” he whispered. “I have the knife.”
“But Bob——”
“But nothing. If it comes to fighting at close quarters I’ve got more beef than you. You keep them off with that revolver, d’you hear? Don’t let them get near you.”
Frank, the smallest of the three chums, pressed Bob’s hand gratefully, grasped the revolver, and followed in the wake of his big comrade, thus bringing up the procession headed by Matt Murphy.
The latter paused as they reached the deck and looked toward the wheel. He had left it lashed. Not a soul was in sight. The others grouped themselves about him. He addressed Frank.
“I don’t like the looks av things,” he said. “The