By this time heavy footsteps could be heard coming across the yard, and the Ship waited in a silence only broken by Habakkuk’s sniffs and the plaintive mews of Red’s little kitten who was shut in the darkness of French’s big pocket.
Then the door was kicked open with such a clatter that Habakkuk nearly fell off his seat with nervousness, and Joe stalked into the room. All his usual good humour was gone and he seemed to Blueneck, at least, to have got quite six inches taller. He stood for a moment looking round, his face flushed and his eyes dark with fury; a long, livid weal ran from his left eye to the corner of his mouth, and he trembled with anger as he stood there breathing heavily. Then, as he caught sight of Blueneck, he gave one whoop of exultation and leapt across the room, landing on the top of the unfortunate man, whom he proceeded to punch with all his might.
Blueneck was no indifferent fighter himself, and as Joe’s first blow landed in his ribs a dull light of anger kindled in his eyes and he forced his way to his feet, and then the greatest fight that the old Ship Tavern had ever witnessed began. They closed in, and Blueneck tried to take advantage of his superior strength by grasping his opponent round the body and swinging him over his head, but Joe was too wiry for that. Seizing his opportunity he dropped low, and throwing his arms round the sailor’s knees he suddenly crouched so that the man fell over and stretched his body full length on the floor. Before he could again regain his feet Joe was upon him and they rolled over and over together kicking, the Spaniard swearing softly. Joe said nothing but grit his teeth and fought steadily and swiftly, always making for the man’s throat. At last he got there; the Spaniard lay on his back and Joe, making a desperate dive between his clawing hands, grasped at the hairy throat and held on tightly.
Blueneck’s mouth opened and his eyes bulged; slowly his movements grew less effectual and more convulsive. Joe held on grimly and without a word; finally he stood up.
“Give him a rum,” he said. “I’ve not done with him yet by a long way.”
Nobody spoke, but Hal stepped forward with the rum. He had drawn it in readiness, and between them he and Joe raised the half-strangled man to his feet and forced the spirit down his throat. Then, as he grew stronger, Joe took him firmly by the collar and dragged him out of the Inn, without a word or a glance behind him.
Sue was on her feet in an instant.
“Will he kill him?” she cried.
Hal shrugged his shoulders.
“No,” he said, “I don’t reckon so—and if he does, what’s a Spaniard, anyway?”