The Max Brand Megapack. Max Brand
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into one cabin an’ keep ’em there till we beach the boat.”
“So that they can get out and tell the land sharks what we’ve done?” suggested Garry Cochrane in disgust.
“Garry,” said Hovey with deep feeling, “you’re a lad after my heart. And you’re right. If one of them lives, he’ll be enough to put a halter around the necks of each of us. We couldn’t get away. If we’re once described, there ain’t no way we could dodge the law.”
He grinned sardonically as he looked about the circle: “There’s something about us, lads, that makes us different from other men.”
The sailors glanced appreciatively at the scarred countenances of their fellows and laughed hoarsely.
“So the second way is the only way,” went on Hovey, seeing that he had scored his point. “The rest of the crew that ain’t with us has got to go under. Are you with me?”
“Aye,” croaked the chorus, and every man looked down at the floor. Each one had picked out the man he hated the most, and was preparing the manner of the killing.
“Good,” said Hovey; “and now that we’ve agreed on that, we’ve got to choose—”
He stopped, going rigid and blank of face. He had seen the open, chilling blue eye of Harrigan, who, drawn on into forgetfulness, had lain for some time on his bunk watching the scene without caution.
CHAPTER 21
“He’s heard!” stammered Hovey, pointing. “Guard the door! Get him!”
“Bash in his head an’ overboard with the lubber!” growled Sam Hall.
Not one of the others spoke; their actions were the more significant. Some leaped to the door and barred the exit.
Others started for Harrigan. The latter leaped off his bunk and, sweeping up a short-legged, heavy stool, sprang back against the wall. This he held poised, ready to drive it at the first man who approached. Their semicircle grew compact before him, but still they hesitated, for the man who made the first move would die.
“You fools!” said Harrigan, brandishing his stool. “Keep off!”
He was thinking desperately, quickly.
“Harrigan,” said Hovey, edging his way to the front of the sailors, “you heard!”
“I did!”
They growled, infuriated. His death was certain now, but they kept back for another moment, astonished that this man would sign his own sentence of doom. From marlinspikes to pocketknives, every man held some sort of a weapon. Garry Cochrane, flattening himself against the wall at one side, edged inch by inch toward Harrigan.
“I heard it all,” said the Irishman, “and until the last word I thought you were a lot of bluffin’ cowards.”
“You had your chance, Harrigan,” said Hovey, “an’ you turned me down. Now you get what’s due you.”
The sailors crouched a little as if at a command to leap forward in the attack. Cochrane was perilously near.
“If I get my due,” said Harrigan coolly, “you’ll go down on your knees. Stand back, Cochrane, or I’ll brain ye! You’ll go down on your knees an’ thank God that I’m with ye!”
“Stand fast, Garry!” ordered Hovey. “What do you mean, Harrigan?”
The Irishman laughed. Every son of Erin is an actor, and now Harrigan’s laughter rang true.
“What should I mean except what I said?” he answered.
“He’s tryin’ to save his head,” broke in Kyle, “but with the fear of death lookin’ him in the eye, any man would join us. Finish him, lads.”
“You fool!” said Harrigan authoritatively. “Don’t talk so loud, or you’ll have White Henshaw down on our heads. Maybe he’s heard that bull voice of yours already!”
It was a master stroke. The mention of the terrible skipper and the skillful insinuation that he was one of them, made them straighten and stare at him.
“Go guard the door,” said Hovey to one of his sailors, “an’ see that none of the mates is near. Now, Harrigan, what d’you mean? You’d hear no word of mutiny when I talked to you. Speak for your life now, because we’re hard to convince.”
“We can’t be convinced,” said Garry Cochrane, “but maybe it’ll be fun to hear him talk before we dump him overboard.”
Instead of answering the speaker, Harrigan looked upon Hovey with a cold eye of scorn.
He said: “I changed my mind. I’m not one of you. I thought the bos’n was a real captain for the gang, but I’ll not follow a dog that lets every one of his pack yelp.”
“I’m a dog, am I?” snarled Hovey furiously. “I’ll teach you what I am, Harrigan. An’ you, Cochrane, keep your face shut. I’ll learn you who’s boss of this little crew!”
“If you’re half the man you seem,” went on Harrigan, “this game looks good to me.”
“You lie,” said the bos’n. “You turned me down cold when I talked to you.”
“You fool, that was because you said no word outright of wipin’ out the officers an’ takin’ control of the ship. You sneaked up to me in the dark; you felt me out before you said a word; you were like a cat watchin’ a rathole. Am I a rat? Am I a sneak? Do I have to be whispered to? No, I’m Harrigan, an’ anyone who wants to talk to me has got to speak out like a man!”
The very impudence of his speech held them in check for another precious moment. He whirled the heavy stool.
“If you wanted me, why didn’t you come an’ say: ‘Harrigan, I know you. You hate Henshaw an’ McTee an’ the rest. We’re goin’ to wipe ’em out an’ beach the ship. Are you with us?’ Why, then I’d of shook hands with you, and that would end it. But when you come whisperin’ and insinuatin’, sayin’ nothin’ straight from the shoulder, how’d I know you weren’t sent by Henshaw to feel me out, eh? How do any of you know the bos’n ain’t feelin’ you out for the skipper he’s sailed with ten years?”
The circle shifted, loosened; half the men were facing Hovey with suspicious eyes. They had not thought of this greater danger, and the bos’n was desperate in the crisis.
“Boys,” he pleaded, “are you goin’ to let one stranger ball up our game? Are you goin’ to start doubtin’ me on his say-so?”
The men glanced from him to Harrigan. Plainly they were deep in doubt, and the Irishman made his second masterful move. He stepped forward, dropping his stool with a crash to the floor, and clapped a hand upon Hovey’s shoulder.
“I spoke too quick,” he said frankly, “but you got me mad, bos’n. I know you’re straight, an’ I’m with you, for one. A man Harrigan will toiler ought to be good enough for the rest, eh?”
Jerry Hovey wiped his gleaming forehead. The kingdom of his ambition was rebuilt by this speech.
“Sit down, boys,” he ordered. “The last man in the forecastle is with us now. We’re solid. Sit down and we’ll plan our game.”
The plan, as it developed after the circle re-formed, was a simple one. They were to wait until the ship was within two or three days’ voyage from the coast of Central America—their destination—and then they would act. They had secured to their side the firemen and the first assistant engineer. That meant that they could run the ship safely with the bos’n, who understood navigation, at the wheel. They would select a night, and then, on the command of Hovey, the men would take the arms which they had prepared.
One of the Japanese cabin boys, Kamasura, was a member of the plot. He would furnish butcherknives and cleavers from the kitchen. Besides this, there were various implements