“She broke qu—”
“Shut up!” broke in another. “Do you want to advertise it? Get out of the way, there, ye damn fool! Climb up, Thorsen.” He spoke like a bucko mate, and his words stirred the bile of Dextry.
Thorsen grasped the dock floor, trying to climb up, but the old miner stamped on his fingers and the sailor loosened his hold with a yell, carrying the under men with him to the beach in his fall.
“This way! Follow me!” shouted the mate, making up the bank for the shore end of the wharf.
“You’d better pull your freight, miss,” Dextry remarked; “they’ll be here in a minute.”
“Yes, yes! Let us go! I must get aboard the Santa Maria. She’s leaving now. Come, come!”
Glenister laughed, as though there were a humorous touch in her remark, but did not stir.
“I’m gettin’ awful old an’ stiff to run,” said Dextry, removing his mackinaw, “but I allow I ain’t too old for a little diversion in the way of a rough-house when it comes nosin’ around.” He moved lightly, though the girl could see in the half-darkness that his hair was silvery.
“What do you mean?” she questioned, sharply.
“You hurry along, miss; we’ll toy with ’em till you’re aboard.” They stepped across to the dock-house, backing against it. The girl followed.