“By this time, sir, the lads was all come up from the forecastle. We wasn’t much hands at fightin’, in them days, on the Labrador craft, bein’ all friends t’gether; an’ a little turn up on deck sort o’ scared the crew. Made un shy, too; they hanged about, backin’ an’ shufflin’, like kids in a parlor, fair itchin’ along o’ awkwardness, grinnin’ a deal wider’n was called for, but sayin’ nothin’ for fear o’ drawin’ more attention ’n they could well dodge. Skipper Alex he laughed; then I cackled a bit—an’ then off went the crew in a big he-haw. I seed Archibald Shott turn white an’ twitch-lipped, an’ I minds me now, sir, that he fidgeted somewhat about his hip; but bein’ all friends aboard, sir, shipped from near-by harbors, why, it jus’ didn’t jump into my mind that he was up t’ anything more deadly than givin’ a hitch to his trousers. How should it? We wasn’t used t’ brawls aboard the Billy Boy. But whatever, Archibald Shott crep’ for’ard a bit, till he was close ’longside, an’ then bended down t’ do up the lashin’ of his shoe: which he kep’ at, sir, fumblin’ like a baby, till Jim looked off t’ the clouds risin’ over the Black Bight cliffs an’ ’lowed ’twould snow like wool afore the hour was over. Then, ‘Will she?’ says Arch; an’ with that he drawed his splittin’-knife an’ leaped like a lynx on Slow Jim Tool. I seed the knife in the air, sir—seed un come down point foremost on Jim’s big chest—an’ heared a frosty tinkle when the broken blade struck the deck. It didn’t seem natural, sir; not on the deck o’ the Billy Boy, where we was all friends aboard, raised in near-by harbors.
“Anyhow, Slow Jim squealed like a pig an’ clapped a hand to his heart; an’ Arch jumped back t’ the rail, where he stood with muscles drawed an’ arms open for a grapple, fair drillin’ holes in Jim with his little green eyes.
“‘Ouch!’ says Jim; ‘that wasn’t fair, Arch!’
“Arch’s lips jus’ lifted away from his teeth in a ghastly sort o’ grin.
“‘Eh?’ says Jim. ‘What you want t’ do a dirty trick like that for?’
“Arch didn’t seem t’ have no answer ready: jus’ stood there eyin’ Jim, stock still as a wooden figger-head, ’cept that he shivered an’ gulped an’ licked his blue lips with a tongue that I ’lowed t’ be as dry as sand-paper. Seemed t’ me, sir, when his muscles begun t’ slack an’ his eyes t’ shift, that he was more scared ’n any decent man ought ever t’ get. But he didn’t say nothin’; nor no more did nobody else. Wasn’t nothin’ t’ say. There we was, all friends aboard, reared in near-by harbors. Didn’t seem natural t’ be stewin’ in a mess o’ hate like that. Look you! we knowed Archibald Shott an’ Slow Jim Tool: knowed un, stripped an’ clothed, body an’ soul, an’ had, sir, since they begun t’ toddle the roads o’ Jump Harbor. Knowed un? Why, down along afore the Lads’ Hope went ashore on the Barnyard Islands, I slep’ along o’ Jim Tool an’ poulticed Archibald Shaft’s boils! Didn’t seem t’ me, sir, when Jim took off his jacket an’ opened his shirt that they was anything more’n sorrow for Arch’s temper brewin’ in his heart. Murder? Never thunk o’ murder; wasn’t used enough t’ murder. I ’lowed, though, that Jim didn’t like the sight o’ the cut where the knife had broke on a rib; an’ I ’lowed he liked the feel of his blood still less, for he got white an’ stupid an’ disgusted when his fingers touched it, jus’ as if he might be sea-sick any minute, an’ he shook hisself an’ coughed, sir, jus’ like a dog eatin’ grass.
“‘Tumm,’ says he, ‘you got a knife?’
“‘Don’t ’low no one,’ says I, ‘t’ clean a pipe ’ith my knife.’
“‘No,’ says he; ‘a sheath-knife?’
“‘Left un below,’ says I. ‘What you want un for?’