Bill faced about. “If these gunsters show fight, shoot to kill!” he hissed in a tense whisper. “But if a man throws down his arms, he is to be bound and held prisoner. I will have no murdering of unarmed men. And anyone who disobeys this order will be shot out of hand by me. Am I understood?”
He was answered by a low chorus of grunts.
“Then—let’s go!”
Leaving but one man to guard the canoes, the little band swarmed over the low bulwarks and on to the yacht’s deck. The sailor on watch was roused from his slumbers to find himself held fast by painted savages. Before he was sufficiently awake to shout for help an oily rag was thrust into his mouth. Then while one Seminole knotted a scarf about his face to keep the gag in place, he was trussed up with rope from the coil on which he had been sleeping. His bonds were further secured to a ringbolt in the decking and then he was abandoned.
At a word from Bill, four Indians entered the companionway amidship, while he and the others hurried on to the forecastle entrance. He found the door closed, jerked it open and ran down a steep flight of steps. His hand groped along the wall in the darkness, there came the click of a switch and the quarters of the crew sprang into view. A table ran down the middle of the long, narrow cabin, and twelve bunks lined the walls, six on either side. Eight of these were occupied.
Bill’s words came sharp as the crack of a pistol.
“Hands in the air! Legs overside—and stay put!”
The man in the second bunk on the right reached stealthily under his pillow, and flashed an automatic into sight, while Bill’s eyes raked the other side of the cabin. But before the sailor could crook his trigger finger, Bill felt an object whizz past his head from the rear, and to his astonishment, he saw the man crumple as though struck by lightning. The dead body fell to the floor. Imbedded in the middle of the man’s forehead was a Seminole tomahawk.
This summary piece of justice evidently cowed the other forecastle hands, for they offered no resistance. They were led on deck and effectively bound with rope and laid in a row beside the deck watch.
Bill did not wholly trust his Seminoles to keep to the promise he had extracted from them. In their eyes this night’s work was a vendetta, war to the death, vengeance to be atoned by blood alone. They had come here to kill or be killed. He felt almost certain that they would murder these prisoners if given the slightest provocation. Therefore he remained on deck until the last gunster was laid beside his fellows, before going below. As it was, he met the men he had sent down to the cabins as he entered the companionway.