"What are you going to do?" asked Joe. He thought of the two blows he had struck Ben Watson and Bob Nellis, and made up his mind that if Samson got one of them he would be a long time in getting even with him.
"I'll ship you off to sea—that's what I'll do," said Samson, in savage tones; "and I'll get twenty-five dollars for that. So be careful what you do."
Joe was thunderstruck. He looked at Samson in a frightened sort of way and then continued on his walk up the street.
"I never thought of that!" said he, with a dazed looked on his face. "The only thing I can do now is to get my money and steer clear of Barlow in the future, for he could ship me off to sea as well as not."
Joe was uneasy after that; and to show that he was terribly frightened he kept in the light of the stores as much as possible. At the end of an hour, when he thought Barlow had been allowed time to go to the vessel and return, he started toward Scotter's wharf; but he did not walk along as a man would who had great confidence in himself. Every two or three steps he would turn and look behind him, as if he was afraid that somebody would slip up and give him one of those deadly blows.
"I'll tell you what's a fact: I've gone and put my foot in it," soliloquized Joe, turning once more to make sure that there was no one dogging his footsteps. "I've got to keep in my house after nightfall as sure as the world. Ah! there you are. Did you make it?"
"I did," replied Barlow, "and here's your boat ready for you to take back. Here's your money."
He had reached the dock just in time to catch Barlow on his return. He handed him the painter with one hand and with the other produced a roll of bills.
"You are all right for one year at least," said he. "They won't be back before that time, and when they come you will have to make up some story to tell them."
"Well, say, Barlow, Samson is awful mad."