“I’ve found Mr. Delavan!” Halstead shouted up.
Upon receiving that startling information Dawson, for the moment, forgot all caution, darting forward. The sullen helmsman seized upon the opportunity to shake himself free of Mr. Moddridge, for Hank Butts, too, forgot himself long enough to turn and run a few steps.
“Look out, Butts!” called the alarmed Mr. Moddridge.
Hank wheeled about just in time to find the sullen helmsman coming face to face with him.
There was time to do but just one thing, and Hank did it. Leaning toward his would-be assailant, Butts dropped the weight squarely across the toes of the scoundrel’s advanced foot, then jumped aside.
“You young villain!” roared the sullen helmsman, sinking to the deck, and reaching both hands out toward his injured foot.
“Much obliged,” said Hank meekly. But he had picked up his iron weight again, and, with it, he advanced upon the one able-bodied seaman left.
“Won’t you oblige me by aiming a blow of your fist at me!” Hank begged. “Then you’ll have your own troubles, and we can attend to our own business.”
But this sailor, who was the least courageous of the three, retreated aft, using some explosive language as he went.
Joe, in the meantime, had gained the fore hatchway, and stood looking down with the keenest interest at his chum, one of whose hands rested on Francis Delavan’s face.