"They've tackled you already?"

Harrigan took out the knife and waved it in the faint starlight.

"They did," he said jauntily, "and they left this behind them as a token."

"Listen," said McTee; "it's not for nothing that men call me Black, but all evening I've been remembering the time when we took hands in the trough of the sea. I've thought of that, Harrigan, and it made me weak inside--"

He paused, but Harrigan would not speak.

"Because I planned your death tonight, Dan."

"Angus, the steel ain't been sharpened that can kill me."

"Don't be too confident. Get every word I say. I'm washing my soul out for you. It's Hovey and the little j.a.p, Kamasura, that you'll have to guard against."

"I know 'em both."

"D'you mean to say--"

"No, I didn't make 'em confess, but I saw 'em lookin' at each other.

What made you hitch up with swine like them? Was it because of--her?"

"Yes."

"Then I forgive you for it. Angus, I got a sort of a desire to shake hands with you. There's nothin' but swine an' snakes aboard the Heron.

I'd like to feel the grip of a man's hand."

They fumbled in the dark and then their hands met. They retained that grasp till the ship sank twice to the deep shadow of the trough and swung up again to the crest.

"There's no peace between us till she's out of the way," muttered Harrigan at last. "What d'you say, Angus?"

"Harrigan, there are times when you're a poet. Strip!"

The Irishman was tearing off his shirt, when three crashing, rattling explosions sent a shudder through the Heron, and his arms dropped nervelessly.

"Where was it?" gasped Harrigan.

"Forward," answered McTee.

"Kate!" they cried in the same breath, and rushed for the main cabin.

CHAPTER 30

The decks were already thick with half-dressed sailors. Here and there lanterns gleamed, and what they showed was the three lifeboats of the Heron--two on one side of the cabin and one on the other--blown into matchwood. Only shapeless fragments and bundles of kindling wood dangled from the davits. Captain Henshaw, cool and calm in his white clothes, stood with folded arms examining the wreckage on one side.

The sailors from the forecastle went here and there, muttering, growling surlily; for a shrewd blow had been struck at their plan of mutiny, the last item of which was to abandon the Heron off a deserted coast and then row ash.o.r.e in the lifeboats. Over their clamor and cursing broke two voices, one accusing in a deep ba.s.s and the other protesting innocence in a harsh treble. It was the third mate, Eric Borgson, who approached carrying little Kamasura under his arm like a bundle.

"Here's the little devil who done the work," he snarled, and flung Kamasura at the feet of White Henshaw.

The j.a.panese are a brave people, but in that dreadful presence Kamasura made no effort to regain his feet, but remained on his knees, groveling and clinging to the hands of the captain, while he shrieked out an explanation. To remove his hands from those clinging fingers, Henshaw simply raised his foot, laid it against the breast of the j.a.p, and thrust out. The kick sent Kamasura rolling head over heels till he crashed against the rail. He lay partially stunned by the impact, and Eric Borgson, bellowing his enjoyment of this pleasant jest, collared poor Kamasura and dragged him back before White Henshaw. The j.a.p was now inarticulate with terror and pain.

"I was comin' down out of the wheelhouse," said the mate, "to get a bite of lunch--this bein' a night watch--when I seen this little yellow rat sneakin' down the deck like a thief. I didn't think nothin' much about it, supposin' he'd just lifted some chow, maybe, and then I heard them explosions. They knocked me off my pins, but I scrambled over an'

collared this fellow. He showed he was guilty right off the bat by yellin' for mercy."

"Captain, captain!" screamed Kamasura. "Lies, lies-all lies. I go down the deck--"

The heavy hand of Eric Borgson smashed against Kamasura's mouth. The j.a.p sagged back, was jerked upright, and the mate's clubbed fist jarred home again.

"Lies, are they?" thundered Borgson. "I'll teach you to say that word to Eric Borgson, ha!"

And he struck the half-conscious j.a.p again full in the face. There was a slight commotion in the back of the gathering crowd of sailors.

Harrigan was urging forward, but he was caught by the iron hands of McTee and held back.

"For the love of Mike," moaned the Irishman softly, "let me at that swine of a mate!"

"Shut up!" cautioned McTee savagely, but in a whisper. "That's the j.a.p who tried to knife you!"

"I will--I'll shut up," sighed Harrigan, panting, "but ah-h, to get in punchin' distance of Borgson for one second!"

"What shall we do with him?" Borgson was asking.

"Captain!" begged the husky voice of Kamasura, fighting his way back to semi-consciousness.

"If he tries to speak again, smash his mouth in," said Henshaw without raising his voice. "Tonight put him in irons. I'll tend to him tomorrow. Go get the irons. Hovey, take Kamasura below."

"Aye, aye, sir," said Hovey, and caught the j.a.p by the arms behind.

That touch quieted Kamasura, and as he was led off, he began to whisper quickly.

The moment they were away from the crowd, Hovey said: "Say it slow--no, you don't have to beg me to help you. I'll do what I can. You know that. Now tell me what you saw."

"Cap'n McTee--behind the wireless house--holding the hand of Harrigan.

They were talkin' soft--like friends!"

"By G.o.d," muttered Hovey fiercely, "an' yet McTee told me he wanted Harrigan put out of the way. He's double-crossin' us. They're teamin'

it together. What did they say?"

The j.a.p spat blood copiously before he could answer: "I could not hear."

"You ain't worth your salt," responded Hovey.

"I cannot help--I am crush--I am defeat. Do not let them bring me before Henshaw. To look at him--it puts the cold in my heart. I cannot speak. I shall die--I--"

"Keep your head up," said Hovey. "There's nothing I can say that'll help you--just now. Later on you'll be able to deal with Henshaw and Borgson just the way they dealt with you. Does that help any?"