The instant that Joe Dawson and Hank Butts let go of the hooks they sprang to board the schooner. A sailor brandishing a belaying pin ran to intercept Hank, but that freckle-faced youth bounded to the sailing vessel’s deck, bearing the hitching weight before him in both hands.
Just as the sailor was about to close in with him Hank, almost as if by accident, dropped the heavy iron weight. It fell, just where he had intended it should, on the sailor’s advanced left foot.
There was a roar of pain as the sailor doubled up and sat down on the deck. But Hank, who had sidestepped before the downward stroke with that belaying pin, now regained his weapon and straightened up, grinning.
“Sorry, matey,” observed Hank to the squatting sailor. “But didn’t your father ever tell you that you oughtn’t to run into anyone who’s carrying too much weight for his age.”
Joe, a heavy wrench in one hand, and fire in both eyes, had leaped forward to meet the other sailor half-way. But that fellow, though armed with a length of stout rope, knotted at the end, prudently retreated, snarling all the while.
Tom Halstead was followed by Eben Moddridge as the young skipper made his way aft to where the helmsman stood.
Hank, seeing that the sailor with the crushed foot was really out of the running, followed Halstead aft. Butts, holding his iron weight, perched himself on the cabin house, his feet dangling over the hatchway.
The helmsman had hastily made a few turns of rope fast around the wheel, to hold the vessel to its course. Now, his eyes glaring, he stepped in front of Halstead.
“What on airth d’ye mean by these pirate tactics?” he bellowed.
“Keep cool, and keep your distance,” ordered young Halstead, holding the wrench so that he could use it in a twinkling at need. “You have a friend of ours on board here. Where is he?”