CHAPTER XIVTHE BATTLE
I fired through the window and brought down one fellow while they were still coming in a huddle toward us. Before I could fire again they were in the saloon and at close quarters with us.
To me it seemed that a hundred men were struggling in that narrow, smoke-filled space. A grimy, black-faced stoker leaped at me and I fired. I remember beating him over the head with my revolver and that we went down together in a clinch.
As I was falling it came over me that the attack was only a feint to keep us busy. The main body of the mutineers was storming the wheelhouse.
When I clambered to my feet I found that our attackers had been routed. Billie Blue's dirk had put a temporary quietus on my stoker, and the rest had fled as quickly as they had come.
"This way!" I shouted, and was out of the door in a jiffy.
A swarm of men were racing up the steps thatled to the bridge and the pilot house. One lay with arms outstretched, face down on the deck. Another was sliding down the rail of the steps, his face writhing with pain.
Our friends were hard pressed. Blythe was keeping the door against a mob, while Yeager was firing through the window. Twice I saw the captain's cutlas flash. Then I lost sight of him and I knew that Bothwell had forced the entrance.
At the same instant the Arizonian disappeared from the opening which he had been using as a porthole. I knew that Sam was down and that his friend had gone to his assistance. My flank attack must have come as a surprise. The mutineers turned, finding themselves between two fires. We crowded in on them, and for a time the jam was so thick that none of us could do much damage.
Now they fought as desperately to get out of the wheelhouse as they had a minute earlier to get in. They were in a panic of fear, fancying themselves trapped.
I was flung against Bothwell, his furious face so close to mine that the hot breath filled my nostrils. We tried to grip each other, but in the huddle we were thrust apart.
Suddenly the room was no longer full, I could see that the enemy was in flight. Before I reachedthe open I knew that the day was won. Alderson, Billie Blue, and Morgan were pursuing the flying rabble.
Bothwell, making play with his cutlas against both Blythe and Yeager, was retreating slowly to the bridge rail. I remember crying out as I ran toward them.
Bothwell vaulted over the rail to the deck below. I followed like a fool, for in the row I had lost my weapons. As I recall it now, Sam shouted to me to come back. But there was some idiotic notion in my head that the Russian might run into the reception room with his fellows and get possession of the women.
Instead, he turned and slashed at me. The blow would have carved my head had not I dodged. At that I received a nasty swipe in the arm. It was not possible to stop. All I could do was to slip past him and continue running.
George Fleming had stopped at the head of the stairway to the main deck. He leveled a pistol and waited for me. Bothwell was at my heels. I was between the devil and the deep sea.
"We've got him!" the Russian cried.
I swung in behind one of the boats which lay under a tarpaulin near the edge of the deck. Simultaneously I heard the engineer's gun crack. Norabbit could have clambered around the boat quicker thanI. Bothwell had doubled back and was charging me. His whistling cutlas hissed down not an inch from my ear and ripped through the tarpaulin to bury the blade in the wood of the bow.
I scudded back toward the bridge, my enemy in full chase.
Every instant I expected to feel the slash of his blade between my shoulders. It seemed to me that my leaden feet clung to the planks, that a toddling child could do that stretch to safety quicker than I was doing it.
As I ran the deck began to tilt dizzily. Before my eyes there spread a haze. All grew black even while my feet still automatically moved.
"Badly hurt, old man?"
The voice came to me from a great distance. With returning consciousness I found that the strong arm of its owner was supporting my head and shoulders. My eyes looked into those of our captain.
"It's all right, Jack," he explained. "We got to you just as you fell and Tom drove that villain back. How badly cut are you?"
"A glancing cut, I think. But I'm a bit dizzy? We beat them, didn't we?"
"Yes. The rats have scuttled back to their holes."
He helped me into the reception room and I sank down on the lounge.
"Just a bit light-headed," I explained to Yeager, who came in at that moment.
"Glad it's no worse. We gave them a drubbing, anyhow."
"Get Bothwell?" asked Sam.
"Nope. My gun was empty. I had him at the foot of the ladder, not ten feet from the muzzle, andclick—nothing doing. The beggar turned and laughed in my face."
"Keep a lookout, Alderson," the captain ordered, while he unbuttoned my coat. "Tom, you'd better take a look around and size up the damage."
"Mott is dead. I found his body in the cabin," I told our chief.
"I was afraid of it. With Mott gone and Dugan wounded we were short two men at the beginning of the scrimmage. Eight to fourteen—devilish long odds. Easy with that sleeve there. Here you, Billie Blue, get me a sponge and a basin of water. And tell Miss Wallace to bring her sticking plaster."
Morgan, very white, was sitting on the opposite lounge trying to stop with a handkerchief the bloodfrom a scalp wound. From where I lay I could see the body of Williams just outside the saloon. A stray bullet from one of the retreating mutineers had killed him at the very close of the battle.
Altogether that left us five sound men, counting Blue as a man, and three wounded ones. The pirates had suffered more. One I had disposed of at the first rush, just before they reached the cabin, and the flunky had wounded one of the firemen.
Yeager had picked off Johnson in the run for the bridge, and Sam had wounded Caine. In addition to these at least two more had been blooded in the scrimmage at close quarters outside the wheelhouse.
"Eight of them left against five of us, not counting the wounded on either side," Yeager summed up.
"What has become of Philips?" I asked, remembering that I had not seen him since the row began.
"Thought I saw him run down stairs when the beggars poured in on us here, sir," Alderson answered.
Later the poor fellow was found in his berth, trembling like an aspen leaf. He had locked his door and buried his face in the pillows.
A shock of red hair above a very white face appearedat the head of the companionway. "Is—is it all over?" gasped a small voice.
"Yes, Jimmie, right now it is. And you'll notice that we're still sticking to the saddle, son, and not pulling leather either," observed the plainsman cheerfully.
"I—I didn't know it would be like this," murmured the boy. "I thought——" His voice tailed out and he dropped limply into a seat, his fascinated eyes fixed on my bleeding arm.
Yeager clasped a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Brace up, kid. The first round is ours, strong. We've had to hustle, but I reckon we've given them a hectic time of it. They'll not bother us for quite some hours. Captain Bothwell is busy explaining to a real sore outfit just why his plans miscarried."
"Is Mr. Sedgwick—killed?" asked the boy, swallowing hard.
I laughed faintly.
"He's worth a dozen dead men yet, Jimmie."
And to prove it I fell back among the pillows, unconscious.
CHAPTER XVTHE MORNING AFTER
My opening eyes fell upon Evelyn. She was putting the last touches to the bandage on my arm, which was already dressed and bound. Evidently I had been unconscious some time.
"It's all right. We won," were my first words to her.
"I know," she answered with a faint glow of color. "Thanks to the brave men who risked their lives for us!"
"Poor Williams was killed, and Morgan was hurt. Has his wound been looked to?"
"On the job now," sang out Yeager. "When I get through with him he'll be as good as new. Eh, Morgan?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," returned that impassive individual.
"Where's Sam?" I asked.
"Back at the wheel."
"Alone?"
"Alderson is with him. Don't worry aboutthem. You couldn't dynamite that bunch of pirates on deck just now. There'll be nothing doing until they get Dutch courage from the bottle. We jolted them a heap harder than they did us," Tom rejoined lightly.
It was all very well for him to keep up his cheerful talk to raise the spirits of our friends, but I did not forget the fact that since the beginning of hostilities we had lost as many men as they had in killed, and only one less in wounded. To be sure, with the exception of Dugan, their disabled were in worse condition than ours. Morgan had only a scratch, and a day or two of rest would set me right.
"Time is fighting for us too, you bet," continued Tom briskly. "We're a unit, and I'll bet they're pulling already every which way. We've got them traveling south, Miss Wallace."
Perhaps his cheerful, matter-of-fact talk was the best possible tonic for the depression which had settled upon us. I could not help think what a blessing it was that we had picked up at Los Angeles this competent frontiersman whose strong, brown hands could make or dress a wound with equal skill.
It was plain to me that during the next few hours I would not be of much use. Out of tenthousand, Tom Yeager was the one I would have picked to take charge of the defense in my absence.
When a few minutes later the beat of the screw began again the sound of it was like wine to me. It meant that, for the present, the mutineers had had enough. They would join in a tacit truce while the yacht was being worked south.
"Help Mr. Sedgwick down to his cabin, Morgan, and then both of you turn in for a few hours' sleep. We'll look out for trouble. Won't we, Jimmie? You and I and Billie Blue, eh?"
"Yes, Mr. Yeager."
"You'll call us if another attack threatens?" I asked.
"Sure."
The steadythrob—throb—throbof the propeller was again shaking the yacht as she took up her journey. This might be a ruse to throw us off our guard, but I did not think so. The enemy was badly demoralized, and the chances were that Bothwell would welcome a chance to whip his forces into shape again.
"Is the door from the galley to the main deck locked and nailed up, Billie?" I asked of the flunky.
"Yes, sir."
"Nail planks across the window too. Philips willhelp you get dinner if you can find him. I'll expect you to see that our party is well fed."
"Yes, sir," the young fellow promised.
"You must go to your room at a moment's notice, Miss Wallace. Have Philips nail up your porthole. You need not be a bit afraid. We hold a very safe position at present. Get all the sleep you can to-night."
"That's good advice, Mr. Sedgwick. Take it yourself," she returned with a little flicker of a wan smile.
For an instant her hand, warm and firm, rested in mine. If I had not been sure of my love before, there was no uncertainty now. While her brave eyes met mine I seemed to drown fathoms deep in the blue of them. Trouble was what I read in them, but part of that trouble was for me. I gloried in that certainty.
She might not love me—it was presumptuous to suppose she did—but at least I held a place in her regard. That was the thought I carried with me down-stairs, and it stayed pleasantly with me till I fell asleep in spite of the pain in my arm.
About nine o'clock I was awakened by a knock on the door. Philips had brought me dinner on a tray.
His eye would not meet mine. He was ashamedbecause he had shown the white feather in the scrimmage.
"I—I've got a wife and three little children, sir," he blurted out before he left.
I nodded pleasantly at him.
"You're going to see them again. But you must help us beat those ruffians. You see we can do it. We've done it once."
"Yes, sir. I—hope to do better next time."
"I'm sure you will, Philips."
We shook hands on it.
I must have fallen asleep again almost immediately. When I opened my eyes it was day. I pushed the electric bell. Philips presently appeared.
"All well?" I asked him.
"Yes, sir. No more trouble. The yacht is still on her course. Doing about nine knots I should judge."
"Heard from Dugan this morning?"
"He isn't doing just what you could call first rate, sir. I think he is delirious. Miss Wallace and Miss Berry are taking care of him by turns."
"And Morgan?"
"Quite all right, sir. Your arm must be stiff. Shall I shave you this morning? I used to be a barber, sir."
"Thanks. If you have time."
Breakfast was served in the English fashion, for it was necessary to keep some one on guard all the time. The Arizonian was making play with a platter of bacon and fried eggs when I joined him.
"How d'ye do? Ready for the round-up again?" he asked cheerfully, with his mouth full.
"My arm's stiff, and when I move there's a pain jumps in it. Otherwise I'm fit as a fiddle. Anything new in the way of trouble?"
"Not a thing. We've arranged a code of signals with our friends at the wheel. You'll find the code pasted up in the saloon. Say, what do you think? That girl slipped out with breakfast for Cap. Blythe and Alderson while I wasn't looking."
"Crossed the deck with it?"
"That's whatever, and sauntered back as cool as you please. Two or three of them were on the forecastle deck, but they didn't lift a hand to hurt her."
I drew a long breath.
"We mustn't let her do it again."
"Not while I'm in the game. She's an ace-high trump just the same. Wonder if she would have any use for a maverick rancher from the alkalicountry? I got a pretty good outfit in the Flying D."
"Better ask her."
"I'm going to," he answered coolly. "Drift that butter down this way, will you?"
"Where is she now?" I asked.
"Not up yet. She took a two-hour turn watching while we slept. Then she sat by Dugan for a while. You'd ought to have seen her at the piano singing 'My Maryland' and 'Dixie' to us just as if she had starred in a mutiny every week of her life. She was doing it for what they call the moral effect, and it sure did keep up the nerve of the boys. I could see Jimmie and Billie get real gay again. Used to live in Tennessee, you know."
"Jimmie or Billie?" I asked innocently.
"You know who I mean all right, you old son of a gun. Try this bacon. It's the genuine guaranteed article. That Billie boy is some cook. Seems her mother was a Southerner before Wallace married her."
"What was she afterward?"
"My, you're a humorist! Say, do you reckon that little bald spot on the crown of my haid would be objectionable to her? I've never monkeyed with these here hair tonics, but I'd be willing to take a whirl at them."
"Here she comes now. You can ask her."
"Did you sleep well?" the young woman asked, after we had exchanged morning greetings.
"Clear round the clock and then some more. You must have had a fine night's rest yourself from what I hear. On watch till one, and nursing Duganfromone. Wasn't that about it?"
"Not quite. I had three hours' sleep. Is your arm paining you much?"
"Don't waste any sympathy on him, Miss Evelyn," the cowman interrupted. "His arm's just as good as a new wooden one, and his repartee is as sharp as the cutlas that broke the skin on it."
She smiled as she began on her grapefruit. "Are you boys quarreling?"
"He hasn't had time to quarrel. He has been making a dreary waste of what was once a platter of eggs and bacon."
"Now I like that," Tom protested.
"So I judge. Never mind, Miss Wallace. Billie can cook you some more."
"Who is on guard?" Evelyn asked.
"The kid. He's a scout for fair too; imagines he's Apache Jim, the terror of the Navajos, or some other paper-backed hero. I hope his gun won't go off and shoot him up."
We made a lively breakfast of it till Yeager hadto leave. You may think it strange that we could laugh and jest on that death ship, but one gets accustomed to the strain and on the reflex from anxiety arrives at a temporary gaiety.
After the cattleman had taken his breezy departure a constraint fell upon us. Evelyn's eyes were shy, and mine not a great deal bolder. Yesterday we could have chatted away with the most delightful freedom; to-day we were confined to the veriest commonplaces.
And all because our eyes had met for one long instant the evening before and hinted at something in the unspoken language of young people the world over.
The arrival of Jimmie Welch with a very robust appetite helped things a good deal, and we were presently ourselves again. After breakfast Miss Wallace went to relieve her aunt at the bedside of the wounded carpenter while I mounted to the bridge to take Blythe's place, Tom doing the same for Alderson.
It struck me as a piece of grim satire that I should be ringing orders down to the men in the engine room with whom a few hours before we had been battling for life, and probably soon would be again.
It was beyond doubt that we would have to measurestrength with them a second time. Bothwell would never let us run into port at Panama if he could help it. The men were probably not anxious for another brush after the drubbing they had received, but the situation forced their hands. They must either take the ship or let us give them up to the authorities as mutineers.
My opinion is that if Bothwell had not been recognized by Jimmie he would have waited until we were actually on the treasure ground, and perhaps even until we had lifted it.
From the sounds that came forward to us from the forecastle it was plain that the enemy were drinking pretty steadily. More than once I saw an empty bottle flung through a porthole into the sea. Occasionally some one appeared on the deck aft, and from the drunken shouts bawled up and down the hatchway the condition of the crew could be guessed.
Blythe and I agreed that this probably meant an attack after darkness had fallen. Fortified by the courage which comes from whisky, they would try and slip up on us in the night and win by a surprise.
CHAPTER XVITHE NIGHT ATTACK
The captain and I were in the wheelhouse when the attack came. It must have been an hour past midnight of a gentle starry night, without the faintest breath of wind in the air. Ever since dark the vibration of the propeller had ceased.
No doubt the charge was intended for a surprise, but we had half a minute of warning. Dimly I could make out figures moving tiptoe at the head of the stairway. Three times I flashed a lantern in signal to our friends. Almost simultaneously came the rush along the deck.
This time they took cover as they advanced, scattering like a covey of young quail. One dropped behind a boat here, another there. Some crouched close to the deckhouse. Bullets sang about our ears from invisible foes.
It looked as if their intention was to pick us off without exposing themselves. The thing could be done too. For a rifle ball would tear through the flimsy woodwork of our shelter as if it had been paper.
"We've got to get out of here," I told my friend.
"Confound it, yes. But where shall we go?"
"What's that? Listen, Sam."
From below and to the left of us there came a sound as of some one moving. We could hear stealthy voices in animated whisper.
"I see their game," Blythe murmured in my ear. "Those fellows on deck are to keep us busy pot-shotting us while the rest climb up from below and close with us when we're not looking."
A bullet zipped through a window and left a little round hole. It must have passed between our heads.
"Hot work," said the Englishman coolly, putting down his rifle and taking up a revolver and a cutlas. "We'd better sally out and have a look at the gentlemen who are climbing up the stanchions. You take that side and I'll take this."
We were not a moment too soon. As I peered over the bridge rail an outstretched hand was reaching for a hold. Instantly it was withdrawn. The moonlight poured like a spotlight on the uplifted face of the sailor Neidlinger. Never have I seen a look more expressive of stupid, baffled surprise. His mouth was open, his eyes popping. But when I made a motion to aim my revolver he slid downthe stanchion with a rush, knocking over the fellow supporting him from below.
I paid no more attention to him, for the feet of those who had been shooting at us were already scurrying forward.
"Blythe," I called in warning.
But the captain was engaged with a mutineer who had climbed up in the way Neidlinger had attempted. A second man—and I saw in an instant that it was Caine—was astride the rail on his way to support the first. Half way over he had stopped to take a shot at Sam.
I fired from my hip without waiting to take aim. It was the luckiest shot of my life. The boatswain's shoulders sagged, his fingers relaxed so that the weapon clattered on the floor, and slowly his figure swayed outward. There was no grip to his knees. He toppled overboard, head first. I heard the plop as his body dived into the sea.
Blythe cut down his man at the same instant.
"Back to the wheelhouse," I shouted.
We were barely in time. They came crowding in on us pell-mell. We had already switched off the light. Now the lantern was dashed to pieces by trampling heels.
I was flung back against the wheel and the revolver knocked from my hand. Sinewy fingersgripped my throat and forced me down until I thought my back would break. Close to my ear a gun exploded. The pressure on my jugular relaxed instantly. The body of my opponent sank slowly to the floor and lay there limp.
I took a long breath, leaped across the prostrate figure, and flung myself upon another. We struggled. I became aware that we had the room to ourselves. The others were fighting outside.
The vessel had fallen into the trough of the waves. In one of its lurches the moon flooded the place with light.
"Sam!" I cried, and he "Jack!"
In the darkness we had mistaken each other for the enemy.
Catching up a cutlas I followed him into the open. Our friends had come and gone again. To say that they were going would be more accurate. For they were now in full flight, the pack of wolves in chase.
A few moments earlier and we might have saved the day. Now we could only pursue the pursuers.
Blythe leaped down the steps, revolver in hand. I followed, but my foot caught on a body lying at the foot of the ladder. A hand caught my coat.
"Gimme a lift, partner," asked a voice.
"You, Tom?" I cried, helping him up. "Hurt, are you?"
"Knocked in the head. A bit groggy. That's all."
The delay made me a witness rather than an actor in the dénouement. Our friends had disappeared within the saloon and slammed the door. The foremost mutineer reached it, tried the handle, and threw his weight against the panels. The others came to his assistance. A revolver shot through the door dropped one of them. The others fell back at once.
They met Blythe. A stoker swung a cutlas and rushed for him. Full in the forehead a bullet from the captain's revolver crashed into his brain. Like a football tackler the body plunged forward to Sam's feet.
For a moment nobody moved or spoke. Then,
"My God!" groaned Henry Fleming.
I cannot account for it. These men had been brave enough in the thick of the fight while facing numbers not so very inferior to their own. But now, standing there three to one, it seemed as if some wave of horror sickened them at sight of the lifeless body plunging along the deck.
They stood there with eyes distended, whileBlythe, grimly erect, faced them as motionless as a statue.
"Gawd, I've 'ad enough," the cook gasped, and got his fat bulk to the stairway with incredible swiftness.
The others were at his heel, fighting for the first chance down.
A bullet clipped the deck in front of me. I looked up hastily to see Bothwell's malevolent face in the wheelhouse window.
"Turn about, Mr. Sedgwick," he jeered, and let fly again.
Half dragging him with me, I got Yeager into the shadow.
"Got a revolver?" I whispered.
"Yes." He felt for it in the darkness. "Damn! I must 'a dropped it when Bothwell hit me over the coconut."
"Are you good for a run to the saloon? He'll pick us off just as soon as the moon comes out from behind that cloud."
A bullet took a splinter from the rail beside me.
"We'd better toddle," agreed the cattleman. "Go ahead."
I scudded for safety, Yeager at my heels. We reached the door of the saloon just as the captain did.
"Let us in. Captain Blythe and friends," I cried, hammering on a panel.
Some one unlocked the door. It was Dugan.
"You here?" I exclaimed.
"Yes, sir. I heard the shooting and came up just in time to lock the door on Mack. Think I wounded him through the door afterward, sir."
"Any of our men short?" Blythe asked quickly, glancing around with the keen, quiet eye of a soldier.
Alderson spoke up.
"Fleming cut Blue down as we tried to force the steps, sir."
"Killed him, you think?"
"No doubt of it, sir."
"Any more lost?"
We did not notice it till a few minutes later, but little Jimmie Welch was missing. None of us was seriously wounded in the scrimmage, though nearly all had marks to show. Even Philips had a testimonial of valor in the form of a badly swollen eye.
"They've suffered more than we have. Check up, my men. Mack, dead or badly wounded, shot by Dugan. Can you name any, Alderson?"
"Only Sutton, sir, that you killed out here. There was a man lying on the bridge when we got there. Don't know who, sir."
"Tot Dennis," answered Blythe, who had cut him down at the same time when I disposed of the boatswain.
I mentioned Caine.
"Didn't you finish another in the wheelhouse, Jack?"
"I didn't. You did."
The captain shook his head.
"You're wrong about that. Must have been you."
This puzzled me at the time, but we learned later that the man—he turned out to be the stoker Billie Blue had dirked in the first fight—had been killed by an unexpected ally who joined us later.
"Counting Mack, they've lost five to our one," Sam summed up.
"Hope they've got a bellyful by this time," I said bitterly.
"They've won the wheel—for the present. But that's unimportant. Bothwell can't hold it. We'll starve him out. Practically it's our fight."
What our captain said was quite true. Even if Bothwell could have solved the food problem and the question of sleep, he dared not leave his allies too long alone for fear they might make terms and surrender.
For we had beaten them again. They had leftnow only seven men (not counting Mack), at least two of whom were wounded. This was exactly the same number that we had. Whereas the odds had been against us, now they were very much in our favor when one considered morale and quality.
At Blythe's words we raised a cheer. I have heard heartier ones, for we were pretty badly battered up. But that cheer—so we heard later—put the final touch to the depression of the mutineers.
"Mr. Sedgwick, will you kindly step down-stairs and notify the ladies that the day is ours? Get me some water, Morgan, and I'll take a look at Mr. Yeager's head. Philips, find Jimmie. Alderson, will you keep guard for the present? You'd better get back to bed, Dugan. I want to say that each one of you deserves a medal. If the treasure is ever found I promise, on behalf of Miss Wallace, that every honest man shall share in it."
At this there was a second cheer and we scattered to obey orders.
When I knocked on the door of Miss Wallace's stateroom a shaky voice answered.
"Who is there?"
"It is I—Sedgwick."
The door opened. Evelyn, very pale, was standing before me with a little revolver in her hand.She wore a kind of kimono of some gray stuff, loose about the beautifully modeled throat, in which just now a pulse was beating fast. Sandals were on her feet, and from beneath the gown her toes peeped.
"What is it? Tell me," she breathed in a whisper, her finger on her lips.
I judged that her aunt had slept through the noise of the firing.
"They attacked us on the bridge again. We had the best of it."
"Is anybody—hurt?" she asked tremulously.
"Five of them have been killed or badly wounded. We lost Billie Blue, poor fellow."
"Dead?" her white lips framed.
"I'm afraid so."
"Nobody else?"
I hesitated.
"Little Jimmie is missing. We are afraid——"
Tears filled her eyes and brimmed over.
"Poor Jimmie!"
I'll not swear that the back of my eyes did not scorch with hot tears too. I thought of the likable little Arab, red-headed, freckled and homely, and I blamed myself bitterly that I had ever let him rejoin us at Los Angeles.
"He wouldn't have come if it hadn't been forme. I asked you to let him," the young woman reproached herself.
"It isn't your fault. You meant it for the best."
Of a sudden she turned half from me and leaned against the door-jamb, covering her face with her hands. She was sobbing very softly.
I put my arm across her shoulders and petted her awkwardly. Presently she crowded back the sobs and whispered brokenly, not to me, but as a relief to her surcharged feelings.
"This dreadful ship of death! This dreadful ship! Why did I ever lead true men to their deaths for that wicked treasure?"
I do not know how it happened, but in her wretchedness the girl swayed toward me ever so slightly. My arms went round her protectingly. For an instant her body came to me in sweet surrender, the soft curves of her supple figure relaxed in weariness. Then she pushed me from her gently.
"Not now—not now."
I faced a closed door, but as I went up the companionway with elastic heels my heart sang jubilantly.
CHAPTER XVIIA TASTE OF THE INQUISITION
It could have been no more than five minutes after I left her that Evelyn followed me to the upper deck saloon. Yet in the interval her nimble fingers had found time to garb her in a simple blue princess dress she had found near to her hand.
Without looking at me she went straight to Blythe, who was sponging the wrist of Alderson.
"You'll let me help, won't you?" she asked, with such sweet simplicity that I fell fathoms deeper in love.
"Of course. You're our chief surgeon. Eh, Alderson?"
The sailor grinned. Though he was a little embarrassed he was grateful for the addition to the staff.
After they had finished I brought her water to wash her hands. For the first time since she had entered the room our gaze met.
Braver eyes no woman ever had, but the thick lashes fluttered down now and a wave of pink beatinto her cheeks. Moved as she was by a touch of shy confusion, the oval of her face stirred delicately as if with the spirit of fire, she seemed a very blush rose, a creature of so fine a beauty as to stir a momentary fear.
But I knew her to be strong, even if slight, and abrim with health. When she walked away with that supple, feathered tread of hers, so firm and yet so light, the vitality of her physique reasserted itself.
"Some one slipping this way in the shadows, Captain Blythe," spoke up Morgan, who was on guard.
Sam had been reloading his revolver. At once he stepped to the door.
"Who goes there? Hands up! I have you covered. Move forward into the light. Oh, it's you, Smith! What do you want?"
"I've come to give myself up, sir. I'm sick of it. Very likely you won't believe me, sir, but I joined under compulsion to save my life. I didn't dare leave them so long as Captain Bothwell——"
"Mr.Bothwell," corrected Blythe sharply.
"Mr. Bothwell, sir, I meant. He watched me as if I were a prisoner."
"I think I noticed you on my bridge with a revolverin your hand," the Englishman told him dryly.
"Yes, sir. But I fired in the air, except once when I shot the fireman who was killing Mr. Sedgwick over the wheel."
I turned in astonishment to Blythe.
"That explains it. Some one certainly saved me. If you didn't it must have been Smith."
"That's one point to your credit," Blythe admitted. "So now you want to be an honest man?"
"I always have been at heart, sir. I had no chance to come before. They kept me unarmed except during the fighting."
His head bandaged with a blood-soaked bandanna, his face unshaven and bloodstained, Smith was a sorry enough sight. But his eye met the captain's fairly. I don't think it occurred to any of us seriously to doubt him.
Sam laughed grimly.
"You look the worse for the wars, my friend."
Smith put his hand to the bound head and looked at the captain reproachfully.
"Your cutlas did it at the pilot-house, sir."
"You should be more careful of the company you keep, my man."
"Yes, sir. I did try to slip away once, but they brought me back."
"Let me look at your head. Perhaps I can do something for it," Evelyn suggested to the sailor.
While she prepared the dressings I put the question to Smith.
"Jimmie. Oh, yes, sir. He's down in the f'c'sle. Gallagher ran across him and took him down there."
This was good news, the best I had heard since the mutiny began. It seemed that the boy had slipped out to get a shot at the enemy, and that his escape had been cut off by the men returning from the attack.
Judging from what Smith said the men were very down-hearted and in vicious spirits. They were ready to bite at the first hand in reach, after the manner of trapped coyotes.
"How many of them are there?" I asked.
"Let's see. There's the two Flemings, sir, and Gallagher, and the cook, and Neidlinger, and Mack, but he won't last long."
"Do you think they're likely to hurt the boy?"
"Not unless they get to drinking, sir. They want him for a hostage. But there has been a lot of drinking. You can't tell what they will do when they're in liquor."
I came to an impulsive decision. We couldn't leave Jimmie to his fate. The men were readyto give up the fight if the thing could be put to them right. The time to strike was now, in the absence of Bothwell, while they were out of heart at their failure.
Why shouldn't I go down into the forecastle and see what could be done? That there was some danger in it could not be denied, but not nearly so much as if the Russian had been down there.
I was an officer of the ship, and though that would have helped me little if they had been sure of victory it would have a good deal of weight now.
Blythe would, I knew, forbid me to go. Therefore I did not ask him. But I took Yeager aside and told him what I intended.
"I'll likely be back in half an hour, perhaps less. I don't want you to tell Sam unless he has to know. Don't let him risk defeat by attempting a rescue in case I don't show up. Tell him I'm playing off my own bat. That's a bit of English slang he'll understand."
"Say! Let me go too," urged the cattleman, his eyes glistening.
"No. We can't go in force. I'm not even going to take a weapon. That would queer the whole thing. It's purely a moral and not a physical argument I'm making."
He did not want to see it that way, but in the end he grumblingly assented, especially when I put it to him that he must stay and keep an eye on Bothwell.
While Blythe was down in his cabin getting a shave I watched my chance and slipped down to the main deck. Cautiously I ventured into the forecastle, tiptoeing down the ladder without noise.
"Dead as a door nail. That makes seven gone to Davy Jones's locker," I heard a despondent voice say.
"'E could sing a good song, Mack could, and 'e carried 'is liquor like a man, but that didn't 'elp 'im from being shot down like a dog. It'll be that wye with us next."
"Stow that drivel, cookie," growled a voice which I recognized as belonging to the older Fleming. "You're nice, cheerful company for devils down on their luck. Ain't things bad enough without you croaking like a sky pilot?"
"That's wot I say, says I; we'll all croak before this blyme row is over," Higgins prophesied.
I sauntered forward with my hands in my pockets.
"Looks that way, doesn't it? Truth is, you've made a mess of it from first to last. Whichever way you look at it the future is devilishly unpleasant.Even if you live to be hanged—which isn't at all likely—one can't call it a cheerful end."
Conceive, if you can, a more surprised lot of ruffians than these. They leaped to their feet and stared at me in astonishment. I'll swear four revolvers jumped to sight while one could bat an eyelid.
I leaned on the edge of the table and gave them the most care-free grin I could summon. All the time I was wondering whether some fool would perhaps blaze away at me and do his thinking afterward.
"How did you get down here?" the senior engineer demanded.
"Walked down. I'm really surprised at you, Fleming. What would Bothwell think of you? Why, I might have shot half of you before Higgins could say Jack Robinson."
It showed how ripe they were for my purpose that at the mention of Bothwell's name two or three growled curses at him.
"He got us into this, he did; promised us a fortune if we'd join him," Gallagher said sulkily.
"And no blood shed, Mr. Sedgwick. That's wot 'e promised," whined the cook.
"Probably he meant none of ours," I explained ironically.
"He was going to wait till you'd got the treasure and then put you in a boat near the coast," Gallagher added.
Neidlinger spat sulkily at a knot in the floor. His eyes would not meet mine. It was a fair guess that he was no hardened mutineer, but had been caught in a net through lack of moral backbone.
"Afraid Bothwell isn't a very safe man to follow. He's let you be mauled up pretty badly. I've a notion he'll slip away and leave you to be hanged without the comfort of his presence."
"You don't need to rub that in, Mr. Sedgwick," advised George Fleming. "And perhaps, since you're here, you will explain your business."
It must be said for George Fleming that at least he was a hardy villain and no weakling. The men were like weather-vanes. They veered with each wind that blew.
"That's right," chimed in Gallagher. "We didn't ask your company. If we go to hell I shouldn't wonder but you'll travel the road first, sir. Take a hitch and a half turn on this. We're in the same boat, you and us. Now you take an oar and pull us out of the rough water, Mr. Sedgwick."
I laughed.
"Not I, Gallagher. You made your own bed,and I'm hanged if I'll lie in it, though I believe it is bad taste to refer to hanging in this company.Ididn't start a little mutiny.Ididn't murder as good a mate as any seaman could ask for. It isn'tmyfault that a round half dozen of you are dead and gone to feed the fishes."
Higgins groaned lugubriously. Neidlinger shifted his feet uneasily. Not one of them but was impressed.
Harry Fleming glanced at his brother, cleared his throat, and spoke up.
"Mr. Sedgwick, spit it out. What have you to offer? Will Captain Blythe let this be a bygone if we return to duty? That's what we want to know. If not, we've got to fight it out. A blind man could see that."
I told them the truth, that I had no authority to speak for Blythe. He would probably think it his duty to give them up to the authorities if they were still on board when we reached Panama.
It was pitiful to see how they clutched at every straw of hope.
"Well, sir, what do you mean by that if? Will he stand back and let us escape?"
"All of you but Bothwell. Mind, I don't promise this. Why not send a deputation to the captain and ask for terms?"
Higgins slapped his fat thigh.
"By crikey, 'e's said it. A delegation to the captain. That's the bloomin' ticket."
Pat to his suggestion came an unexpected and startling answer.
"Fortunately it won't be necessary to send the delegation, since your captain has come down to join you."
The voice was Bothwell's; so, too, were the ironic insolence, the sardonic smile, the air of contemptuous mastery that sat so lightly on him. He might be the greatest scoundrel unhanged—and that was a point upon which I had a decided opinion—but I shall never deny that there was in him the magnetic force which made him a leader of men.
Immediately I recognized defeat for my attempt to end the mutiny at a stroke. His very presence was an inspiration to persistence in evil. For though he had brought them nothing but disaster, the fellow had a way of impressing himself without appearing to care whether he did or not.
The careless contempt of his glance emphasized the difference between him and them. He was their master, though a fortnight before none of them had ever seen Bothwell. They feared and accepted his leadership, even while they distrusted him.
The men seemed visibly to stiffen. Instead of beseeching looks I got threatening ones. Three minutes before I had been dictator; now I was a prisoner, and if I could read signs one in a very serious situation.
"I'm waiting for the deputation," suggested Bothwell, his dark eye passing from one to another and resting on Higgins.
The unfortunate cook began to perspire.
"Just our wye of 'aving a little joke, captain," he protested in a whine.
"You didn't hear aright, Bothwell. A deputation to the captain was mentioned," I told him.
"And I'm captain of this end of the ship, or was at last accounts. Perhaps Mr. Sedgwick has been elected in my absence," he sneered.
"You bet he ain't," growled Gallagher.
"It's a position I should feel obliged to decline. No sinking ship for me, thank you. I've no notion of trying to be a twentieth century Captain Kidd. And, by the way, he was hanged, too, wasn't he, captain?"
"That's a prophecy, I take it. I'll guarantee one thing: You'll not live to see it fulfilled. You've come to the end of the passage, my friend."
"Indeed!"
"But before you pass out I've a word to say to you about that map."
His eye gave a signal. Before I could stir for resistance even if I had been so minded, George Fleming and Gallagher pinned my back to the table. Bothwell stepped forward and looked down at me.
A second time I glimpsed the Slav behind his veneer of civilization. Opaque and cruel eyes peered into mine through lids contracted to slits. Something in me stronger than fear looked back at him steadily.
His voice was so low that none, I think, except me caught the words. In his manner was an extraordinary bitterness.
"You're the rock I've split on from the first. You stole the map from me—and you tried to steal her. By God, I wipe the slate clean now!"
"I've only one thing to say to you. I'd like to see you strung up, you damned villain!" I replied.
"The last time I asked you for that map your friend from Arizona blundered in. He's not here now. I'm going to find out all you know. You think you can defy me. Before I've done with you I'll make you wish you'd never been born. There are easy deaths and hard ones. You shall take your choice."
With that fiend's eyes glittering into mine it was no easy thing to keep from weakening. I confessit, the blood along my spine was beginning to freeze. Fortunately I have a face well under control.
"You have a taste for dramatics, Captain Kidd." I raised my voice so that all might hear plainly. "You threaten to torture me. You forget that this is the year 1913. The inquisition is a memory. You are not in Russia now. American sailors—even mutineers—will draw the line at torture."
His face was hard as hammered iron.
"Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Sedgwick. I'm master here. When I give the word you will suffer."
I turned my head and my eyes fell upon Henry Fleming. He had turned white, shaken to the heart. Beyond him was Neidlinger, and the man was moistening his gray lips with his tongue. The fat cockney looked troubled. Plainly they had no stomach for the horrible work that lay before them if I proved resolute.
To fight for treasure was one thing, and I suppose that even in this they had been led to believe that a mere show of force would be sufficient; to lend their aid to torture an officer of the ship was quite another and a more sinister affair.
The Slav in Bothwell had failed to understand the Anglo-Saxon blood with which he was dealing.
I faced the man with a dry laugh.
"We'll see. Begin, you coward!"
Pinned down to the table as I was, he struck me in the face for that.
"You lose no time in proving my words true," I jeered.
An odd mixture is man. Faith, one might have thought Bothwell impervious to shame, but at my words the fellow flushed. He could not quite forget that he had once been a gentleman.
In the way of business he could torture me, wipe me from his path without a second thought, but on the surface he must live up to the artificial code his training had imposed upon him.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Sedgwick. Were there time I would give you satisfaction for that blow in the customary manner. But time presses. I shall have to ask you instead to accept my apologies. I have the devil of a temper."
"So I judge."
"It flares like powder. But I must not waste your time in explanations." From his vest pocket he drew three little cubes of iron. "You still have time, Mr, Sedgwick. The map!"
I flushed to the roots of my hair.
"Never, you Russian devil!"
He selected the hand pinned down by Fleming, perhaps because he was not sure that he could trustGallagher. Between my fingers close to the roots he slipped the cubes. His fingers fastened over mine and drew the ends of them together slowly, steadily.
An excruciating pain shot through me. I set my teeth to keep from screaming and closed my eyes to hide the anguish in them.
"You are at liberty to change your mind—and your answer, Mr. Sedgwick," he announced suavely.
"You devil from hell!"
Again I suffered that jagged bolt of pain. It seemed as if my fingers were being rent asunder at the roots. I could not concentrate my attention on anything but the physical agony, yet it seems to me now that Gallagher was muttering a protest across the table.
Bothwell released my hand. I saw a flash of subtle triumph light his eyes.
"A wilful man must have his way, Mr. Sedgwick," he nodded to me, then whispered in the ear of George Fleming, who at once left the room.
They pulled me up from the table and seated me in a chair. Bothwell whistled a bar or two of the sextet from Lucia until he was interrupted by the entrance of the engineer with Jimmie Welch.
In a flash I knew what the man meant to do, andthe devilish ingenuity of it appalled me. He had concluded that I was strung up to endure anything he might inflict.
Now he was going to force me to tell what I knew in order to save the boy from the pain I had myself found almost unendurable.
What must I do? I beat my wits for a way out. One glance around the room showed me that the scoundrel's accomplices would not let him go much further.
The weak spot in his leadership was that he did not realize the humanity which still burned in their lost souls. But at what point would they revolt? I could not let little Jimmie go through the pain I had undergone.
The boy gave a sobbing cry of relief when he saw me and tried to break away to my side. He was flung on the table just as I had been. Gallagher looked at me imploringly while Bothwell fitted the cubes.
Neidlinger stole a step nearer. His fingers were working nervously. Harry Fleming had turned away so as not to see what would follow.
"Mr. Sedgwick, what are they going to do with me?" the frightened little fellow called in terror.
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 thefingers fell limp. A moment, and the revolver was in my hand.
Bothwell was handcuffed and disarmed before the eyes of his followers, who in turn had to endure the same ignominy.
The mutiny on theArgoswas quelled at last.