"Bash in his head an' overboard with the lubber!" growled Sam Hall.
Not one of the others spoke; their actions were the more significant.
Some leaped to the door and barred the exit.
Others started for Harrigan. The latter leaped off his bunk and, sweeping up a short-legged, heavy stool, sprang back against the wall. This he held poised, ready to drive it at the first man who approached. Their semicircle grew compact before him, but still they hesitated, for the man who made the first move would die.
"You fools!" said Harrigan, brandishing his stool. "Keep off!"
He was thinking desperately, quickly.
"Harrigan," said Hovey, edging his way to the front of the sailors, "you heard!"
"I did!"
They growled, infuriated. His death was certain now, but they kept back for another moment, astonished that this man would sign his own sentence of doom. From marlinspikes to pocketknives, every man held some sort of a weapon. Garry Cochrane, flattening himself against the wall at one side, edged inch by inch toward Harrigan.
"I heard it all," said the Irishman, "and until the last word I thought you were a lot of bluffin' cowards."
"You had your chance, Harrigan," said Hovey, "an' you turned me down.
Now you get what's due you."