“What’s going on here?” he bellowed.
Every head spun toward him and there was a babble of excited voices in reply. But, of course, it was Mr. Briggs who answered the skipper’s question.
“Oh, nothing at all, sir,” he said, giving Captain West a broad wink. “Just a bit of friendly horseplay, that’s all, sir.”
Captain West grunted and nodded. Then he said, “You, there, Sam and Gunnar. Get up above to the pilothouse. A wave swept everything but the deck away, but you can still steer by hand compass. Get one from one of the lifeboats. The rest of you,” he roared, whirling quickly, “the rest of you get back where you belong. The storm’s over! We’ll make Buffalo by tomorrow night.”
A weak cheer followed that news. The men shuffled down the passageway. Captain West waited until the sailors had gotten out of earshot, before he jerked a rude thumb at Sandy and growled, “He making trouble again?”
The mate nodded. “Just before you came below, he stirred up a fight between Dick and the Swede.”
Sandy Steele sucked his breath in sharply.
“That’s a lie!” he burst out sharply.
Captain West ignored his protest. He merely glared savagely at Sandy and said, “Shut up!” He seemed to be pondering something. Then, his forehead smoothed out and he spoke to his mate.
“Briggs, we’re only a few hours away from that Chadwick-Kennedy deal. I’m taking no chances on Buster, here. So, he’s yours until we dock tomorrow night. Take him into your cabin with you and batten down the door. Don’t come out until I send for you. You hear me?”