"We ain't goin' to let them fellers slaughter us; don't you worry none about that," went on Boston. "This ain't the first gun-play me and Blackie has took part in, you bet! He's a dead shot, and I'm a good one. We got it all planned out, Blackie and me. We never intended going aft like the Cockney wanted us to. We're goin' to lay low, behind cover, and pick 'em off—the mates, and old Swope, too, if he shows his blasted head. Then, where will them sailmakers and carpenters be, with their boss gone? They'll be rattled, they'll be up Battle Creek, that's where they'll be. We can rush 'em then. And if a few of our fellers swaller lead—why, there'll be the fewer to share the swag."
"Newman—" I began.
"We'll do the best we can for Big 'Un," says Boston. "We need him. We'll try and get the Old Man first pop—and if we have decent luck plunkin' the mates, it'll be over so quick nobody can hurt Big 'Un."
I thought, and was silent.
"What's holdin' you back?" demanded Boston. "I know you ain't afraid. Look here, Shreve, you know you can't hold the crowd back. You and Blackie and me could all be against it, and still they'd go aft. They're goin' to get Swope before Swope gets more o' them. And if it's Big 'Un you're worryin' about—why, we got to do this to save him. Look here—let me give you a tip, if the Big 'Un hasn't: When Big 'Un come on board this ship he found out somethin' from the skipper's Moll that he wanted to find out, and now, if he gets ashore alive with what he found out, there'll be a sheriff's necktie party for Yankee Swope. That's what all this bloody business has been about. You can lay your last cent that Swope will get Big 'Un, if we don't get Swope."
"Boston, give me that gun," I said.
He took a look at my face, and smiled, satisfied. He drew the weapon from under his clothes, a long-barreled, heavy caliber service Colt's, and passed it to me. I thrust it out of sight, beneath my own waist-band.
"Now, I'm boss," I said. "I'll give the word."
His smile widened. This was what he wanted, as I well knew. Boston and Blackie could plan and instigate. But they could not lead that crowd. The sailors despised them, the stiffs hated and feared them second only to the afterguard. They needed me as leader. They flattered themselves, I dare say, that they could control me—or extinguish me when the time came.
For my part, I had made my decision. It was a desperate, a terrible decision. It was necessary that I pretend to fall in with Boston's plans if I were to execute my decision.