But toward the middle of the afternoon Richard noticed signs of dissatisfaction among a few of the men near the stern, where there was an improvised back-gammon board. They were evidently angry about something. A quarrel at this spot was a daily occurrence, and occasioned no surprise among the sentinels; but Richard guessed that some other cause was at the bottom of this, and gradually made his way to Peter’s side.
“’Tis Henry Crane,” Peter whispered, and his close-shut fists showed an emotion his face concealed. “He is jealous that the ship was given to Bangs rather than to him, and he and some of his fellows—his old crew—are threatening mischief.”
“Fool, to risk his neck and liberty for a damnable vanity!” Rising, Richard crossed to the group of players, and sinking down upon the deck gathered the dice into his hand as though to take part in the sport.
“I play to win; and the man who fouls my game—for any cause whatsoever—has me to answer to,” he said with stern emphasis, his fearless eyes fixed steadily on Crane’s face. The man flushed and began to mumble an answer, but the guard, passing, said sharply:—
“Since you cannot play without a row, break up the game.”
The players got up slowly. “You understand?” Richard said under his breath, and Crane nodded surlily.
The afternoon wore on and all remained quiet. Crane had evidently thought better of his foolish jealously. It was growing late, and there was going to be a high wind, and that was well, for it would set the tide yet stronger in its outward sweep, and their flight would be all the swifter.
It lacked only a little while before the drum-tap. Richard got up and stood with his face to the glowing west to take his last farewell of the dream-girl with whom he kept his tryst each evening at this hour.
“Good-by, sweetheart,” he said in his inner consciousness. “I love you. On your dear eyes I kiss you—so—”