“Enough!” exclaims Gomez, now purple with rage. “No man can give Frank Lara the lie, and live after.”
“Frank Lara; or whatever you may call yerself, I’ll live long enough to see you under ground—or what’s more like, hangin’ high above it wi’ your throat in a halter. Don’t make any mistake about me. I can shoot straight as you.”
“Avast theer!” shouts Striker to Gomez, now calling himself De Lara, seeing him about to draw a pistol. “Keep yer hand off that wepun! If theer must be a fight, let it be a fair one. But, before it begin, Jack Striker has a word to say.”
While speaking, he has stepped between the two men, staying their encounter.
“Yes; let the fight be a fair one!” demand several voices, as the pirates come clustering around.
“Look here, shipmates!” continues Striker, still standing between the two angry men, and alternately eyeing them. “What’s the use o’ spillin’ blood about it—maybe killin’ one the other? All for the sake o’ a pair o’ petticoats, or a couple o’ pairs, as it be. Take my advice, an’ settle the thing in a pacifical way. Maybe ye will, after ye’ve heerd what I intend proposin’; which I daresay ’ll be satisfactory to all.”
“What is it, Jack?” asks one of the outsiders.
“First, then, I’m goin’ to make the observashun, that fightin’ an’t the way to get them weemen, whoever’s fools enough to fight for ’em. Theer’s somethin’ to be done besides.”
“Explain yourself, old Sydney! What’s to be done besides?”
“If the gals are goin’ to be fought for, they’ve first got to be paid for.”