Someone struck a match. In the flare Rio saw Martin regarding him steadily. He grinned. It was a painful, smashing look and he didn’t take his eyes away. The match flickered out and Martin came up to him slowly.
“Watch for the lights, Eddy,” cautioned Rio, as he and Martin walked a few yards away from the lowered sounds of the men.
“So you believe, Martin, that I’d pull this?” Rio twisted the automatic in his hand. “Al got this for me. He’d eat out of my hand. Never mind why. This—belongs to Roberts. It was used one night. I got it for you.”
“You told the story?” asked Martin.
“I told no story. Al’s a thief. He does what I say, but his heart is finer than yours.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Martin, feeling the gun and Rio’s hands in the dark. Breaking it under Rio’s wrist, he suddenly threw back his arm and spun the automatic into the river.... Vaguely he heard Rio say there were lights....
Martin looked toward the pier and saw the headlights of an automobile coming upon them. The car was gaining speed as it passed the pile of lumber. Martin, faster than the others, leaped for the running board and swung himself against the windshield glass, holding to the door-handle. His head was turned just enough to see Eddy jump behind him. Eddy missed the board. His body spun vertically against the rear fender and crashed on the pavement. Behind him, Rio was running frantically. Martin smashed his hand through the side window, feeling slivers of glass against his arm. He caught the driver by the throat and, through the sound of the motor, could hear the dark gurgle under his fingers. There was swearing and shoving inside, but Martin hurt too much to care. He pushed steadily against the lower part of the wheel until the machine swerved and tilted toward the river. It came around in a wide arc, breaking heavily on the shoulder of the pier. Then Martin heard Rio’s voice and knew that he, himself, was falling. He turned so that the back of his head would not strike the paving, and felt the rush of hot blood as his nose and mouth hit first. Instead of putting him out, it cleared his brain. He lay quietly, watching Rio swing his fist and then his club. Abstractly, he watched the other men in the crew go into action against the finks. He didn’t care....
The gorilla-like sailor with whom he had quarreled, held a bottle as though it were a club. He was snarling as he pulled a man from the car.
“So it is ye, ye finkified mate! I been lookin for ye!” Martin heard him say. “I been lookin’ for ye, an’ yer damned long finger ye’ve pointed at me like a dog! God!—I’ll git that finger now!” he added hoarsely, bringing the bottle down on the fender of the car until it was split across. Savagely he threw the mate on the ground, held him by the collar and stepped on his wrist. Then, separating the man’s forefinger from the rest of his hand, he brought down the split edge of the bottle sharply above the middle knuckle.
“Wife—Wife!” cried the mate softly.