“It means some fighting—probably some killing.”
“Sorra wan av me'll feel broken-hearted at killin' the likes av that Dutchman,” Terry answered. “Shtill, we'll be needin' some help, I'm thinkin'.”
“We'll get it, or I'm no judge of human nature. Mike, pass the word for Sam Daniels, the boss of muleteers and broncho busters. Sam used to be a Texas Ranger.”
Accordingly Sam Daniels was sent for and arrived on the jump.
“Sam, my dear boy,” said Cappy calmly, “I'm enlisting volunteers to raise hell with that submarine. They're going to put bombs in the bilges and blow up the ship.”
“Count me in, Cap,” Sam Daniels replied laconically. “Want me to rustle up a couple of the boys?”
“Yes, about three real ones—boys that are handy with a six-shooter.”
“I guess most of the boys from the border have their guns in their war bags. I'll go get them together.”
He did—in about three minutes; by which time the collapsible boat from the submarine had been launched and was pulling toward the Narcissus. While her master directed them to pull round to the port gangway, Sam Daniels slipped down unobserved into Number Three hatch, two of his horse wranglers disappeared with an equal lack of ostentation down the gangway into Number Two hatch, and a third man went forward and down Number One. The trap was set.
A stout young lieutenant clad in soiled dungarees, his uniform cap alone denoting his rank, came briskly up the companion, followed by four jackies carrying the bombs. A fifth man remained in the boat, fending it away with a boat hook from the tall black side of the Narcissus.