{Illustration: I sprang back against the cabin}
I sprang back against the cabin and swung the gun in swift half-circles. The men shrank from it as though I had lashed them with a whip. “Come on,” I cried, “which six is it to be? Come on, you cowards, why don’t you take me!”
The only answer came from a voice that was suddenly uplifted at my side. I recognized it as the voice of the ship’s captain.
“Put down that gun!” he shouted.
But I only swung it the further until it covered him also. The man stood in terror of his ship’s owners, he had a seaman’s dread of international law, but he certainly was not afraid of a gun. He regarded it no more than a pointed finger, and leaned eagerly toward me. To my amazement I saw that his face was beaming with excitement and delight.
“Are you Captain Macklin?” he cried.
I was so amazed that for a moment I could only gape at him while I still covered him with the revolver.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Then why in hell didn’t you say so!” he roared, and with a bellow like a bull he threw himself upon the Commandante. He seized him by his epaulettes and pushed him backward. With the strength of a bull he butted and shoved him across the deck.
“Off my ship you!” he roared. “Every one of you; you’re a gang of murdering cutthroats.”