Keighley had been working his men like an old slave-driver, glancing back at the chief, every now and then, with a sly, dry smile. Now he caught Borden’s pipe and steadied it. “All right, chief,” he said. “He’s out. Here he comes.”
“Shine” climbed, panting, up the ladder. “Hold those brutes off us now,” Keighley ordered. “We got to get down to that fire. Here ‘Shine’! You an’ Cripps take this pipe an’ keep those cats away from the hatch.”
“Shine” came to the chief’s pipe, grinning at the remarks of the men.
“You’re as good as a circus,” Borden said, wiping his eyes.
“They scared the tripe out o’ me.”
Keighley turned to his pipe. “I’m responsible for this boat”
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The chief gave place to him. Keighley ordered: “Down yuh go, now.”
Cripps and “Shine,” at one angle of the hatch, and Moore and his pipeman, diagonally opposite, commanded the deck below with two solid streams that drove the animals into shelter among the cages, while Keighley and his squad, with axes and ladder straps, went down to fasten their six-inch line and cut an opening for the pipe in the hatch. The smoke blew up in a thick belch as the men stripped off the tarpaulin. “That’ll keep Mr. Bear busy,” the chief said.