Eagan stepped out from the rail a half step, and stood partly between Stirling and the little skipper. There was that written in the seaman's face which held every man upon the ship. His eyes glittered with high light, and his body rested on the balls of his feet as if to spring.
"A moment!" Eagan snapped in steeled tones. "This layout will lead to murder. Murder leads to swingin'. I don't want to swing. I'm with the skipper in every way. Get that?"
The crew glanced at each face before them—Stirling's strong, but uncertain; Eagan's masterful; Marr's openly sneering.
"We get it," a sailor answered back.
"Then, I suggest we all go slow. This Stirling has been cracking too much about whisky and seals. He's liable to see too much and say too many things afterward. You get me, don't you?"
"We get you."
"On the other hand," continued Eagan, "there's the danger of messing the whole voyage up. If we croak this fellow, it'll get out and we'll have to pay. If we maroon him anywhere along this coast, he'll find a way to signal that cruiser that went north, or the Bear."
"How about an island?" a boat steerer asked.
"That's it!" declared Eagan, dropping his hand. "We'll put him on an island after we get done with the little trip the captain has planned for us. That island will be in the North Pacific. We can pick out a nice, quiet one."
Stirling, with fist still ready for action, turned toward Eagan and exclaimed: "You're with them, eh?"