"Four on one, and you were kicking at him at that."
"Any business of yours?"
"We made it so. The next move is up to you."
"Licker!" groaned the captain. "Gimme drink—I'm dying."
One of the men made a movement toward his left hip pocket, but halted guiltily.
"Ain't got no licker."
"Go ahead; give him some!" chuckled Higgins. "We aren't revenue men."
The man finally produced a bottle of colorless stuff, a stiff drink of which brought the captain to his knees. A second drink and he was able to rise to his feet.
"Moonshine, by the great smoked fish!" laughed Higgins. "Two snorts of it and the dead walk!"
The captain leaned weakly against the rail.