Gantline reached an iron belaying-pin and quickly knocked in the top of the keg and tore off the pieces.
“You see, it’s ill-smellin’ stuff,” grunted Garnett, “and its value is according to its smell.” He bent over the keg and peered into it. “It’s pretty hard,” he continued, “when a man’s been through all the danger and trouble o’ getting a prize to have to divy up with them that ain’t in the contract——”
“Gord A’mighty! Hard down the wheel there! Spring your luff!” he roared, as he sprang to his feet. “Pig grease! s’help me, the scoundrel’s robbed us!”
The men rushed to the sheets as the schooner came up on the wind and headed for the island again, while Gantline and Foregaff bent over the open keg.
“’Tis as good lard as ever fried doughnut,” said the skipper, as he stuck his finger into the mass and then drew it through his lips, while Gantline glared at it as though it was the ghost of Father Tellman’s pig.
“Clear away the gun for’ard, and get——”
“Hello, what’s the matter?” asked the skipper, as Garnett was getting ready for action.
“Why, we can’t get ashore there again. They well-nigh murdered us as it was,” said the mate.
“Well, what good can we do with that gun, then? It won’t throw a ball across the surf, let alone to the village. You must have been up to some deviltry ashore.” And the skipper eyed the mates suspiciously.
“Devil be hanged! We were as soft as you please, but they were for mischief from the time we rolled over in the surf. I guess, perhaps, you’d better go ashore, though, for old Easyman don’t like me.”