“The only thing for you to do is to go and get a cop the minute the boat lands, and nail ’em!” David declared.
“I reckon maybe they’d fork over, if you did that,” Goliath seconded.
“Think so?” said Cochran hopefully. “But—how in tarnation can we keep ’em here till I find a cop?”
“We’ll keep ’em for you, all right,” growled Goliath. “You be the first one off that gangplank when she goes down, and get a hustle on you. And mind this—that if it’d been a square game me and my pardner wouldn’t turn a hand to help you, because—we both hates a squealer. It’s only because you’re such a dam old simpleton that we do anything at all. Maybe this’ll teach you a lesson!”
“It will! It will!” groaned the now “unlucky” Cochran, with great humility. “But—but—how you goin’ to hold ’em aboard this here ship?”
“We’re goin’ to horn into their cabin with a gun and just naturally keep ’em there,” said David as the plan slipped into his agile mind.
“By gosh! That’ll be good!” Cochran gleefully chortled. “Me for the head of that gangplank!”
David and Goliath stationed themselves outside the cabin door of the two sharpers and waited. They seemed to be in no hurry. Indeed, from the few sounds that could be overheard from within, they were indulging in a hot altercation and mutual recriminations.
“They’re fightin’ over the split, I got an idea,” David mumbled to his partner.
“Let ’em fight! Saves us trouble,” said Goliath.