He waited and reviewed his position. The revolutionists were busy with the engines and the furnaces, and their shouts came aft with muffled curses. The clang of a bell told that the leader had urged more steam, and the ship was hurtling through a sea free from ice. Stirling could hear no grating along the run.
He worked forward, guiding himself by the touch of the polished tail shaft. The barricade of iron plates was an effective barrier to a sudden rush. There was scant danger from the Russians. The sentry they had placed on guard stood high on the gratings overlooking the opening to the shaft alley. Stirling peered through a crack in the plates and watched him. He was looking intently at the two intermediate cylinders.
Working aft with careful steps, Stirling reached his trapdoor and listened. A sound of deep breathing came to him. Slim, the dock rat, was directly above, where he choked now and then, and his arms moved over the racks of the table. Then he was still—save for the drunken breathing which subsided almost to nothingness.
Stirling braced his shoulders against the planks, pressed his feet upon the shaft bearing, and strained with every muscle. A splintering noise sounded. A second thrust tore loose the last of the planks. They showered about him as he reached upward, rested his elbows on the edge, and sprang to the deck of the cabin.
Slim raised an arm, fell forward, lifted his chin, and turned it in a slow arc. His eyes blinked as Stirling lunged for him with a bearlike glide which was not to be denied. Strong fingers clasped about the dock rat's throat; he was lifted from his chair and hurled across the floor of the cabin. Stirling was after him with a quick stride.
The struggle which followed was terrible in its intensity. Stirling had the strength given to outdoor men; he was unskilled, however, and faint from loss of sleep and food. Slim had learned boxing and wrestling along the San Francisco water front. He squirmed to his knees, twisted from Stirling's grip, and lowered his head for a rush. Stirling met this attack with a savage reaching of arms and a grunt as Slim uppercut with vicious strength. They fell into a clinch, they swayed and staggered about the cabin, overturning chairs and stools.
Stirling's clean living began to tell as the Ice Pilot recovered his wits and became more careful. Lunging blows straightened and became jabs, hugs gave place to standing exchange of blows. The dock rat leered from puffed eyes and searched about for a weapon. A brass bomb gun and a Remington rifle lay across the table. He dodged and reached for the bomb gun, his fingers closing over the barrel, when Stirling leaped the distance and wound his arms about Slim's waist.
The dock rat, catapulted through the air, crashed against the sheathing of the starboard wall. He managed to rise, but Stirling was over the planks and upon him with a vicious outthrust of his jaw. The madness of the struggle had completely mastered the Ice Pilot, who fought furiously.
Soon Slim lay still. Stirling, looking about for a cord or line, saw a tassel protruding from a curtain which covered the alleyway leading aft. Jerking this loose, he lunged swiftly to Slim's side, drew his arms behind him, and completed a sailor's job of tying and splicing from which no man could escape.
The dock rat opened one eye and moaned. Stirling drew back and glanced sternly at him, his bulk seeming to fill the cabin.