Part 19 (1/2)
”Me? I always pack a gun. Got the habit when I was a kid and never shucked it. For rattlesnakes,” he added with a grin.
”We have a few of them on board. Yeager, the kid saw Bothwell in the engine room talking with Fleming. Do you know what that means?”
”I can guess, I reckon,” he drawled.
”It means war--and soon.”
”And war is h.e.l.l, Sherman said. Let's make it h.e.l.l for Bothwell. It's about time for me to begin earning my pa.s.sage. What's the matter with me happening down into the forecastle and inviting Capt. Bothwell up to be more sociable?”
”Won't do at all. If he were alone it would be a different matter. If you went down there you'd never come up alive. We need every man we've got. Think of the women.”
His light-blue eye rested in mine.
”I'd give twenty cows if they were back in Los Angeles, Jack.”
From my pocket I took the key which unlocked the door of the room we called the armory. After I had selected two revolvers I left him there attending to business. Morgan I found in Blythe's cabin. He took my news quietly enough, though he lost color when I told him what we had to expect.
”I don't know much about revolvers, sir,” he said, handling very respectfully the one I handed him.
”You'll know more in a day or two,” I promised. ”Morgan, we're going to beat these scoundrels. Be quite sure of that.”
”Yes, sir. Glad to hear it, sir,” he answered doubtfully.
”You know Captain Blythe. He's worth half a dozen of these wharf rats.
So is Mr. Yeager.”
”Are--are all the crew against us?” he asked after a moment's struggle with his trepidation.
”No, we know of at least two who are for us. Probably there are others.
Don't be afraid. We're going to smash this mutiny.”
”Yes, sir. Captain Blythe will see to that. I put my faith in him.”
But in spite of what I had said it was plain that Morgan's faith was a quavering one. He was a useful man, competent in his own line, but his _metier_ plainly was not fighting. My news had given him a shock from which he would not quickly recover.
It was nearly time for the change of watches, and when I returned to the deck I saw that Mott was already on the bridge. He listened to our story with plain incredulity.
”I know nothing about this man Bothwell, but say the word and I'll go down and haul him on deck for you, Captain Blythe,” he offered, contemptuously.
”You don't understand the situation. He's as dangerous as a mad dog.”
”I've yet to see the first stowaway I couldn't bring to time. They're a chicken-hearted lot, take my word for it.”
”He isn't a stowaway at all in the ordinary sense of the word. I'll be plain, Mr. Mott. We're after treasure, and Bothwell means to get it. The crew are with him.”
”Slap doodle bugs!” retorted our first officer. ”I make nothing at all of your story, captain. Thirty years I've sailed this coast and I've yet to see my first mutiny. Haul up this fellow Bothwell and set him swabbing decks. If he shows his teeth, give him a rope's end or a marlinspike. I'll haze him for you a-plenty.”
I could have smiled at Mott's utter lack of appreciation of our dilemma if his bull-headed obstinacy had not been likely to cost us so much.
”You don't understand the man with whom we have to deal, Mr. Mott. He sticks at nothing,” I explained.