“He is the guide to our treasure-house, Mr. Gering.”
“His name is Bucklaw—a mutineer condemned to death, the villain who tried to kidnap Mistress Leveret.”
It was Bucklaw that replied. “Right—right you are, Mr. Gering. I’m Bucklaw, mutineer, or what else you please. But that’s ancient—ancient. I’m sinner no more. You and Monsieur Iberville saved the maid I meant no harm to her; ‘twas but for ransom. I am atoning now—to make your fortune, give you glory. Shall by-gones be by-gones, Mr. Gering? What say you?”
Bucklaw stood still at the head of the table. But he was very watchful. What the end might have been it is hard to tell, but a thing occurred which took the affair out of Gering’s hands.
A shadow darkened the companion-way, and Radisson came quickly down. His face was sinister, and his jaws worked like an animal’s. Coming to the table he stood between Gering and Bucklaw, and looked from one to the other. Bucklaw was cool, Gering very quiet, and he misinterpreted.
“You are great friends, eh, all together?” he said viciously. “All together you will get the gold. It is no matter what one English do, the other absolve for gold. A buccaneer, a stealer of women—no, it is no matter! All English—all together! But I am French—I am the dirt—I am for the scuppers. Bah! I will have the same as Bucklaw—you see?”
“You will have the irons, fellow!” Phips roared.
A knife flashed in the air, and Bucklaw’s pistol was out at the same instant. The knife caught Bucklaw in the throat and he staggered against the table like a stuck pig, the bullet hit Radisson in the chest and he fell back against the wall, his pistol dropping from his hand. Bucklaw, bleeding heavily, lurched forwards, pulled himself together, and, stooping, emptied his pistol into the moaning Radisson. Then he sank on his knees, snatched the other’s pistol, and fired again into Radisson’s belly; after which with a last effort he plunged his own dagger into the throat of the dying man, and, with his fingers still on the handle, fell with a gurgling laugh across the Frenchman’s body.
Radisson recovered for an instant. He gave a hollow cry, drew the knife from his own throat and, with a wild, shambling motion, struck at the motionless Bucklaw, pinning an arm to the ground. Then he muttered an oath and fell back dead.
The tournament of blood was over. So swift had it been there was no chance to interfere. Besides, Gering was not inclined to save the life of either; while Phips, who now knew the chart, as he thought, as well as Bucklaw, was not concerned, though he liked the mutineer.