"Come on, yo' muckers, come on an' git yo' medicine," he bawled. Then he picked up the prostrate man, and, taking him by the shoulders, used him as a flail, swinging him about his head and knocking every one in his path into a state of submission. The men around Smart fled in confusion, and in a moment Bahama Bill and the captain stood alone in the end of the room, the rest of the onlookers making good their escape to the street. Journegan stood behind his bar and grinned down the barrel of his empty gun.
"Air ye hurted much, Bill?" he asked.
"Hurt!" roared the giant mate. "What'd hurt me here, anyway, 'cept yo' blamed rum, hey?"
"Well, if you want to make a gitaway now's the time, I reckon, for this place'll be pulled to-night sure—an' that in a mighty few minutes."
Bahama Bill dropped the limp form of Wilson Smith. The man was not seriously hurt, only horribly bruised. The rest were either insensible from blows or unable to rise from the smash of the thin fellow's body upon them, for the mate had stove them hard enough to break ribs and arms with his human whip. Some of the gang essayed to sit up and take notice after the mate ceased to speak. One had the temerity to draw a gun, which Bill unceremoniously kicked out of his hand.
"I reckon we'd better be goin' 'long, cap," said the big black. "This place'll be pulled by the marshal inside o' ten minutes. Take up w'at dough you sees; I'll kerlect it off'n you later."
"Didn't you git a plug?" asked Journegan.
"Oh, yas; jest a little hole in de shoulder—dat's nothin'. Come on, cap."
Smart hesitated a minute. "Where do we go?" he asked.
"Aboa'd de Sea-Horse—an' to sea as fast as we kin git her movin'. Ought toe been gone befo' dis, but when I see dat Skinny settin' in to skin yo' I jest naterally had toe take a hand. Whatcher s'pose I handed yo' dat money fer?"