"So," he said to Rogers, "you're a bad man from the West, I hear. Held up a stage and then killed the man you robbed!"
"You've got things wrong, Sir," answered Rogers respectfully.
"None o' your lip!" thundered the officer. "You may be a bad man from the West; but I'm a bad man from the East, and I'm here to take the badness out o' bad men!"
Then, before Rogers could dodge, he launched forth his fist and struck him. The blow knocked him off his feet, and he rose with nose bleeding and eyes closing.
"Just to show you," commented the mate, "that I'm a badder man than you."
Rogers did not answer; in fact, no answer was necessary or wise. He walked forward, and, partly from his half-blindness, partly from his disorganized state of mind, passed to windward of Snelling, the second mate, who was coming aft to dinner. Snelling said nothing in the way of prelude, but crashed his fist on Rogers's already mutilated face, and sent him again to the deck. As Rogers struggled to his feet he said:
"You pass to looward o' me when we meet, or I'll make you jump overboard!"
And again Rogers saw the wisdom of silence and went on to the forecastle.
The watches had not yet been chosen; but half the crew had eaten, and he joined the other half, finding in his clothes bag a new sheath knife and belt, a tin pan, pannikin, and spoon, which articles are always furnished to a shipped man by the boarding masters, no matter how he has been shipped. To his surprise, as he attacked the dinner, he found Quincy and Benson, each with a similar outfit of tinware, toying with the food, and paying no attention to the polyglot discourse of the other men regarding the ship, the mates, and the food. But they glared menacingly at Rogers as he entered.
"This your work, Rogers?" demanded Quincy. "Were you in cahoots with that saloonkeeper?"