"You are? You are not. I'm captain. Get up on that shanty." The small house over the mizzen-hatch was indicated, and Captain Belchior climbed it. The tubes were still looking at him.
"Now, you, there, you man who hit me last night when I was sick, who are you, and what?"
"Mate, d—— you."
"Up with you, and don't cuss. You did a cowardly thing, pardner—an unmanly thing—low down and or'nary. You don't deserve to live any longer; but my darter, back East at school, thinks I've killed enough men for one lifetime, and mebbe she's right—mebbe she's right. Anyhow, she don't like it, and that lets you out—though I won't answer for 'Pache and Laramie when my back's turned. You kicked 'em both. But I'll just return the blow." The mate had but straightened up on top of the hatch-house when the terrible pistol spat out another red tongue, and his yell followed the report, as he clapped his hand to the ear through which the bullet had torn.
"Hands up, there!" thundered the shooter, and the mate obeyed, while a stream of blood ran down inside his shirt-collar.
"Any more bosses here?"
The second mate did not respond; but 'Pache's pistol sought him out, and under its influence, and his guttural, "I know you; get up," he followed his superiors.
"Any more?"
A manly-looking fellow stepped out of the group, and said: "You've got the captain and two mates. I'm bo's'n here, and yonder's my mate. We're next, but we're not bosses in the way o' bein' responsible for anything that has happened or might happen to you. We b'long forrard. There's no call to shoot at the crew, for there's not a man among 'em but what 'ud be glad to see you get ashore, and get there himself."
"Silence, bo's'n," bawled the captain. But the voice of authority seemed pitifully ludicrous and incongruous, coupled with the captain's position and attitude, and every face on the deck wore a grin. The leader noticed the silent merriment, and said: