He broke off, for he heard the harsh, ringing laughter of White
Henshaw. The captain held up his revolver.
"No use, Hovey," he called. "I fired five shots, but I saved one for myself. Ha, ha, ha!" And his mirthless cackle broke out once more.
"Look!" cried Kate, and pointed at the captain.
Down the left side of Henshaw, bright against the white of his coat, was a rapidly growing stain of red. They could see the small slit in the cloth where a knife thrust had entered his side, but the old buccaneer would give no sign of his injury. He waved his gun toward Kate as she advanced an impulsive step toward him.
"Keep back!" he commanded. "Woman and man, I trust none of you. Give me distance or I'll use this bullet on the first of you and give what's left of me to the sea."
"By the Lord, he's wounded!" cried Harrigan. "Steady, old heart of oak, you've nothing to fear from us. Hovey! Oh-h, Hovey, we'll see you damned before we give up the captain!"
The bos'n, choking with his fury, shook his clenched fist at them and disappeared into the cabin.
"Now lie down," said McTee to the captain, "and we'll fix you up. Are you badly hurt?"
"Enough to finish me," said Henshaw calmly, "but keep off! I'll have none of you! None of your tricks!"
His old body was trembling with the pain of his wound, but the hand which held the gun leveled on McTee was as steady as a rock. Kate pushed McTee aside and turned a glance of scorn on the others.