“Bombini!” I said sharply.
He paused and looked up.
“Stand where you are,” I ordered, “till I do some talking.—Chantz! Make no mistake. Rhine is boss for’ard. You take his orders . . . until we get into Valparaiso; then you’ll take your chances along with him in jail. In the meantime, what Rhine says goes. Get that, and get it straight. I am behind Rhine until the police come on board.—Bombini! do whatever Rhine tells you. I’ll shoot the man who tries to stop you.—Deacon! Stand away from Chantz. Go over to the fife-rail.”
All hands knew the stream of lead my automatic rifle could throw, and Arthur Deacon knew it. He hesitated barely a moment, then obeyed.
“Fitzgibbon!—Giller!—Hackey!” I called in turn, and was obeyed. “Fay!” I called twice, ere the response came.
Isaac Chantz stood alone, and Bombini now showed eagerness.
“Chantz!” I said; “don’t you think it would be healthier to go over to the fife-rail and be good?”
He debated the matter not many seconds, resheathed his knife, and complied.
The tang of power! I was minded to let literature get the better of me and read the rascals a lecture; but thank heaven I had sufficient proportion and balance to refrain.
“Rhine!” I said.