Part 31 (1/2)

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 left now 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.”

”n.o.body else?”

I hesitated.