Bothwell took the lad's fingers in his. I opened my lips to surrender—and closed them again. Neidlinger had drawn still another step nearer. The big blond Scandinavian had reached his limit.
The Slav gave a slight pressure and Jimmie howled. Crouched like a panther, Neidlinger flung himself upon his chief and bore him back to the wall. Bothwell, past his first surprise, lashed out with a straight left and dropped the man.
Simultaneously Gallagher closed with him, tripping Bothwell so that the two went down hard together. Neidlinger crawled forward on hands and knees to help his partner.
Shaking off the grip of the irresolute men holding me, I was in time to seize George Fleming, who had run forward to aid the captain.
From the hatchway a crisp order rang out.
"Back there, Fleming!"
I turned. Blythe and Yeager were standing near the foot of the ladder; behind them Alderson, Smith, Morgan, and Philips. All six were armed. Their weapons covered the mutineers.
"Gallagher—Neidlinger, don't release that man. You are prisoners—all of you," Sam announced curtly.
Taken by surprise, the two sailors had ceased to struggle with Bothwell. I could see the master villain's hand slip to the butt of his revolver.
My foot came down heavily on his wrist and the fingers fell limp. A moment, and the revolver was in my hand.