Eagan squared his jaw and glanced for a second time toward the booby hatch then he rubbed his hands together, reached and took the salve offered by Stirling.
"I'll tend to the next time," he said, huskily. "I'll tend to it! I don't need no afterguard to fight my battles. I can lick any three men of this crew, Mr. Stirling."
The Ice Pilot turned, strode across the rude planks of the forecastle, and mounted the ladder to the deck. Cushner removed the medicine chest from beneath his arm and started aft with it.
"Hold on," said Stirling. "Just a minute, Sam!"
The second mate turned.
"Don't say anything more to Marr. Just give him the chest and meet me in the waist. We'll have a smoke over this. That crew look as if they were in earnest. They'll murder Eagan if he don't keep his eyes peeled."
The mate bobbed his head and climbed the weather poop steps as Marr appeared at the side of the wheelsman and stared over the canvas rail. His eyes locked with Stirling's and were unable to hold the Ice Pilot's accusing scrutiny. Already and before entering the Bering Sea, there was a full crop of suspicion and cross-purpose sowed upon the Pole Star.
Cushner moved to the rail as Marr disappeared in the gloom. The two seamen lighted pipes and stared out over the Northern sea. A nip was in the air, and the higher stars shone with frosty effulgence.
"I've got to take the poop," said Cushner, folding close his pea-jacket and glancing aft. "Whitehouse has gone into the galley. Marr won't stand for a watch alone; he'll probably go below."
Stirling shrugged his broad shoulders, pressed the bowl of his pipe, then blew upon his thumb with thoughtful air.