“I don’t just remember what the crime is—bigamy, or mayhem, or attainder of treason, or something—anyway, they’ll get you in jail and that’s all they want. They think you’re the only lawyer that’s wise enough to cause trouble and the only one they can’t bribe.”
“Lord! What’ll I do? They’ll watch every lighter that leaves the beach, and if they don’t catch me that way, they’ll search the ship.”
“I’ve thought it all out,” said the old man, to whom obstruction acted as a stimulant.
“Yes—but how?”
“Leave it to me. Get your things together and be ready to duck in two hours.”
“I tell you they’ll search the Santa Maria from stem to stern,” protested the lawyer, but Dextry had gone.
“Better do as he says. His schemes are good ones,” recommended Glenister, and accordingly the lawyer made preparation.
In the mean time the old prospector had begun at the end of Front Street to make a systematic search of the gambling-houses. Although it was very late they were running noisily, and at last he found the man he wanted playing “Black Jack,” the smell of tar in his clothes, the lilt of the sea in his boisterous laughter. Dextry drew him aside.
“Mac, there’s only two things about you that’s any good—your silence and your seamanship. Otherwise, you’re a disreppitable, drunken insect.”
The sailor grinned.