Moving quietly, lest he should provoke the dispute, Bill warned his men to be on the alert. And it was not long before the crew of the Lucky Star, with a stout fellow at their head, advanced threateningly.
"Look here, you, Bill o' Burnt Bay," shouted the leader, "some o' your men have been stealin' our tows."
"Oh, come, now, Johnny Tott," Bill replied, good-humouredly, "that ain't our way o' gettin' a cargo."
The men of the Dictator gathered behind Bill. Bill would have been better pleased had they gathered with less haste, had there been less of the battle-light in their eyes, had they held their gaffs less tightly—but all that, of course, was beyond his control; he could only make sure to have them there to defend the rights of the firm.
"You can't scare me!" Johnny Tott flashed, angered by what he understood to be a display of force, but still trying to keep his temper. "We left twenty-two tows here last night, an' we find sixteen this mornin'. Who took the odd six?"
Bill was bent on having the question referred to the captains of the ships. They might settle it as they would. As for him—knowing from experience how quickly such encounters might come, and how violent they might be—all he desired was peaceably to protect the interests of his employers, and of the men, who had a percentage interest in every seal killed.
"I don't want t' scare you, Johnny Tott," he replied, quietly. "I thinks you've counted your flags wrong. Now, why can't we just——"
Then came an unfortunate interruption. It was a long, derisive cat-call from one of Bill's men—none other than Tim Tuttle. That was more than could be borne by men who were confident of their rights.
"Thieves!" half a dozen of the crew of the Lucky Star retorted. "A pack o' thieves!"